Harry Potter and the Muggles Who Needed Magic
by TheZorker
Summary: It's been over two years since Frisk fell to the Underground, and was adopted by the Dreemurr family. One of her former foster parents has finally noticed, and come looking for her. Now, if Frisk can't find a way to bring her families together... it might just tear her apart. Book Three of The Underground's Saviour
1. A New Class

Toriel's phone was ringing.

"Could you see who that is, Frisk?" Toriel asked, as her hands were currently covered in gloves and sticky dough.

It was Friday, not quite a week after Frisk and her siblings had come home from Hogwarts, and Frisk was helping her mother make some pastries for the weekend. "Okay," Frisk said. She walked over to the counter, fished out her mother's phone. "It's Ms. Oxtoby," Frisk reported.

"Go ahead and answer it, Frisk, I need to wash my hands," Toriel told her, pulling her gloves off, and heading to her sink.

Frisk tapped the button, and held it up to her ear. "Hello, Ms. Oxtoby. Sorry, we've been baking." She paused, listening for a moment. "She's right here," Frisk said, holding up the phone for her mother to take.

"Hello, Sarah," Toriel said. "Frisk. Go ahead and measure up a pretty good spoonful and put them on the cookie sheets." She turned back to the phone. "Sorry, Sarah, how are you doing?" They talked for a while as Frisk dolloped the cookie dough into small heaps on the sheets. When that was done, she put the sheet in the oven.

"I do not know Sarah," Toriel said as Frisk prepared the second sheet. After another minute or so, she replied to some question with, "I do not object, myself. I will ask... what? Oh, of course. Certainly." She removed the phone from her ear. "Frisk? Opal would like to ask you a question."

Frisk washed the dough off her hands before taking her mother's phone. "Hi, Opal! How are you?" she said. Opal, a member of Hufflepuff house at Hogwarts, was one of Frisk's best friends. They'd had a short spat they'd had last year, when Opal had become upset with Gryffindor about the Triwizard Cup, and Harry Potter's mysterious (at the time) entrance. But Opal had come with her to save Asriel and Chara, something Frisk would never forget, or believe herself able to repay.

"I'm going to take a martial arts class, Taekwando, over the summer holiday," Opal told her. "Would you like to join me?" she asked eagerly.

The third year witch blinked in surprise, staring at the phone. Frisk knew she'd taken the death of Cedric Diggory at the end of the last year hard, but she hadn't expected this.

"Frisk? Are you there?"

Frisk wasn't sure what to make of the question. "Why do you want to do that, Opal?" she asked. "Isn't learning magic enough of a self defense?"

"But I can't do that now," Opal protested. "We're not even allowed to use magic away from the school. What if something happens over the summer? We have to be ready for it!" That was the other half of the bombshell that landed at the end of term. The idea that Voldemort, the dark lord, had risen from the Grave once more. Opal clearly was taking the threat seriously.

But exactly what martial arts was supposed to do to protect against dark wizards with wands, Frisk wasn't sure. It kind of sounded like a good way to get hurt, or worse, hurt someone else. Frisk looked up. Toriel was tapping her hands together in a makeshift 'T'. The monster was also giving Frisk a look that she didn't understand. "Opal?" Frisk said, finally. "Can I have some time to think about it? I don't want to do something Asriel would be able to join in on."

"Oh," Opal said. She sounded slightly disappointed, though she was trying to hide it. "I understand that. The first class is next week, so you have some time," she said, sounding more cheerful.

They talked a little longer, until it became time to take the cookies back out of the oven. "I need to help Mom," Frisk said. "I'll call you with an answer soon, okay, Opal?"

"Alright Frisk, talk to you soon," Opal said, and hung up.

That night at dinner, Frisk brought up Opal's offer to the rest of her family.

"There is more to this," Toriel said. "Ms. Oxtoby is worried for her daughter. She took the death of young Cedric Diggory especially badly, and has apparently become very easy to upset."

"That's not the Opal I know," Frisk said. "She used be so patient. Isn't there someone she could talk to? To help her with this?"

"There is a department of Saint Mungo's that handles psychology and therapy," Asgore confirmed.

"I think this is to be the reward for going to see one," Toriel agreed. "Mr. Oxtoby also thought that Opal would be able to manage her anger better if she had something to channel it into. He said he had training in boxing when he was in school," Toriel continued. "Sarah was not having that, so he suggested a martial art instead. Apparently, it requires a great amount of discipline."

When it was put that way, it didn't sound so bad. "I don't know if it's for me, though," Frisk said. "Opal is a lot more into that kind of athletic thing than I am. And I don't want to do something if Asriel can't do it."

"She's your friend," Asriel told her. "Go ahead! I'd do it!"

"Would you want to try, Chara?" Asgore rumbled. "It's supposed to also be good for one's self confidence. Something like that might be good for you." He paused, noticing Frisk's shocked expression. "Don't look at me like that, Frisk. I don't pretend I know everything about the non-magical humans, so I consider it my responsibility to learn as much as I can."

"I guess so?" Chara said, though she didn't particularly convinced.

Frisk considered it, while she looked between Chara and Asriel. Self confidence was something Chara could use more of, in Frisk's opinion. So, if it was good for Opal, and good for Chara, and, if Asriel didn't mind? Maybe it really was a good idea. "Well. Okay, I guess. I can try it at least once. If you're really okay with it, Asriel."

"You could always ask Undyne to train you instead," Asriel said, grinning. Frisk's eyes went wide at the thought.

"Sarah told me Opal wanted to train with her, too," Toriel said. "But I do not believe that she will help with the control that Opal needs."

Frisk shuddered.

* * *

The plan was pretty straightforward. They were going to take Floo Powder to the Oxtoby's house, from there, Ms. Oxtoby was going to drive them to the facility. Apparently, there was a light disillusionment charm on the car, to prevent people from figuring out that children were coming out of the Oxtoby residence who hadn't gone into it.

It went smoothly. Frisk didn't really like Floo Powder, but she was able to use it well enough. Frisk had never been in Opal's house before. It looked, at surface glance, exactly like any non magical house. If it wasn't for the self moving mop in the kitchen, Frisk wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

"Hey Frisk!" Opal said, smiling widely as Frisk emerged from their fireplace.

Frisk responded by sneezing twice, then rubbed her face. "Sorry, Opal," Frisk said. "I think I might be allergic to Floo Powder. "It's good to see you, though!" Frisk badly wanted to ask if she as feeling better, but she stopped herself. At the moment, her friend wasn't thinking of Cedric, and it was probably better to keep it that way.

Chara emerged behind her, dealing with the Floo Powder better than Frisk had.

"We have a few minutes before we have to go. Want to see my room?" Opal asked, eagerly.

"Why not?" Chara said. Frisk nodded in agreement.

Opal led them around a corner into what appeared to be the main hall, then up a stairwell, then into a room off an upstairs corridors. When Opal opened the door, they saw into a room slightly smaller than Frisk's, but what immediately caught Frisk's eyes were all of the posters on the walls. Most of them featured moving subjects, most prominently a poster for the Hollyoak Harpies, and a few other quidditch teams that Frisk didn't recognize. There was also a poster of the "Watford Hornets F.C.", and to Frisk's immense surprise, a picture of an American Football game being played at Wembley Stadium.

Other than the sports posters, there was a Hufflepuff banner over the bed. There was a picture of two older people, probably her wizardly grandparents, given how the picture was waving back at her. On her dressers were a number of trophies, probably from summer sports leagues. "Do you have a favorite?" Frisk asked, nodding over to them.

"Probably the first place in the rugby league last summer holiday," Opal said, looking over at them. "But I'm proud of them all."

"How did you not end up in Gryffindor?" Chara asked, though Frisk was ready to echo the question. "You're so competitive."

"I'm not sure," Opal admitted. "Dad thinks its because I'm so much of a team player. I'm not usually the person in the lead, but the person she always counts on. I just hate seeing my team not do well."

"Are you going to play Rugby again this summer?" Frisk asked. As she asked, she could hear Opal's mother downstairs, telling them it was almost time to leave. "Maybe we could come watch a game."

"I am," Opal confirmed, as they headed back the way they had come. "It's almost going to be busier in summer than it is at Hogwarts. Almost. But I like it. And it'd be great if you could come, Frisk."

Before they left, they had to change into a white uniform that Opal called a "Gi". It was almost like a Hogwarts robe, only without the convenient pockets. They also had to leave their wands behind, which really made Frisk uncomfortable, but there was no place in the uniform to carry it. They piled into the Oxtoby's car, a silver sedan, and made small talk on the way "Thank you for taking us," Frisk said as they arrived.

"You're welcome, Frisk," Ms. Oxtoby said, smiling back at her. Once inside the small building, Behind a small lobby area, there was a wall that blocked off view of the practice area from the street. Frisk could see seven or eight other students in similar uniforms, and one adult, the teacher, Frisk was sure. Ms. Oxtoby approached him, handing over a few sheets of paper.

He ruffled through them, and raised an eyebrow at them. He looked up at Ms. Oxtoby, "Is Ms. Dreemurr not here?" he asked.

Ms. Oxtoby shook her head. "I'm afraid not. They work second shift, so I offered to bring their children with Opal. That's alright, isn't it?"

The man shrugged and nodded, then moved to collect his students for class.

If Frisk were to admit it, non magical martial arts seemed a lot like Not-Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. After being shown how to strike, an overly aggressive term for a punch, they all practiced in an attempt at synchronization. Unlike in Defense, at least they weren't directly practicing on each other.

Then they moved on to practicing kicks. Frisk was embarrassed to discover that she was almost as good at kicking as people who had one of those fancy colored belts. "Flexible," the instructor had called Frisk. Opal had called him 'Sensei' once, and she had been corrected gently, but firmly. "Sensei is Japanese, and Taekwando is Korean. Instructor, or Master, as I am a Black Belt, but not Sensei."

Then they practiced "ukemi" or "breakfalling", the art of falling in such a way that it didn't hurt. There were a couple of cushions set up that they dove (not... really, but Frisk couldn't come up with a better term) over, and practiced falling on their side. Frisk was initially nervous. Her falls in the underground had bubbled up in her mind, like some sort of boggart. But it went better than that, and it could actually be useful. One didn't just fall in martial arts practice, after all.

But to Frisk's horror, the last thing they would be practicing was throws. Even Opal's quick volunteering to thrown first didn't make it any easier for Frisk to do. "It's alright, Frisk," Opal told her patiently. "It's like our instructor said, I need to learn to fall. To do that, I need you to throw me."

"I don't like hurting people," Frisk said quietly.

"But that's the point," Opal continued gently. "For us to practice this in a dojo, so we don't get hurt. You can help me learn, right?"

"Okay," Frisk said. It was hard, her hearts wasn't in it. As Opal stepped forward, she was supposed to use Opal's momentum to jerk her off balance, where Opal was supposed to put the breakfall they had practiced to use. But Opal was bigger than her, and Frisk didn't quite have the drive to pull her the right way, and instead they both collapsed into a heap on the floor.

It took Frisk a few times before she could manage a competent throw. Opal, was able to catch herself reasonably well. Interestingly, when it was time to reverse the practice, Frisk found it much easier to allow Opal to throw her. Partially because she was much better at it then Frisk was.

When they were done, and Ms. Oxtoby was talking to the sensei again, the only other girl in the class walked up to them. She was dark skinned, with stringy black hair, and dark eyes. "Hello, I'm Denise," she said brightly. "I'm glad I'm not the only girl in the class any more. Are you coming back next week?"

Frisk was ready to say no, but Opal had already said yes. "That's cool! I've never met you before, do you live around here?" she asked.

"Not far from here, in Watford," Opal told her.

"I live in Watford!" Denise responded excitedly. "But... I've never seen you at school there..."

Frisk and Chara froze. Exactly what were going to say to that? But Opal had it under control. "I go to a boarding school in Scotland. St. George's School for Girls. I'm home for the Summer Holiday."

"Oh! Like Anne and George! That's neat!"

"Like who?" asked Chara. Frisk was confused as well.

"The Famous Five! Hasn't everyone read the Famous Five?" Denise asked. "I love Enid Blyton," she continued.

Frisk hadn't. But maybe it would make for interesting reading over the summer. They were interrupted by Ms. Oxtoby telling them it was time to head for home. Denise waved at them, as they left. "She seems nice enough," Frisk said.

"Was that something you practiced?" Chara asked, as they shut the doors and buckled their safety belts. "Saying you went to a muggle boarding school?"

"That's where we say she goes," Ms. Oxtoby confirmed. "It's close enough to the truth, and we don't have to worry about people about wondering why she's locally 'missing'." It must have come up before, like in her summer Rugby league. They drove until they were almost back at the Oxtoby's house before the elephant in the car was addressed. "Will you want to attend another session next week?"

"Oh, please say yes!" Opal said, turning to Frisk to plead her case. "This is doing something. For Cedric."

"I would like to," Chara said. Frisk looked at her sister in surprise. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

Frisk didn't want to. She really didn't want to. But... Opal was her friend. And Frisk could tell this wasn't something she wanted, it was something she needed. And if Chara wanted to come? "I guess I can," Frisk said.

"That's excellent!" Opal said, her eyes shining. "Thanks, Frisk!"

"But you owe me. I'm not what you owe me, but I'll figure it out," Frisk said, smiling despite herself.

* * *

Frisk would see a lot of her friends, both monster and human over the first month of summer. Toriel had said Opal had wanted Undyne to train her as well, it turned out she hadn't been kidding. She had the opportunity to meet Doctor Gaster, Sans and Papyrus's father, and heard finally heard the entire story of what Sans had been up to the last term. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you," Dr. Gaster told her in his slightly ethereal voice. "I watched the whole time, as you managed to break the barrier. You even offered your soul to young Asriel. The honor of the acquaintance is mine. And yes, I remember meeting you, in that room between space and time that once," he finished, winking. There was Napstablook new stage drama routine, performed off Diagon Alley.

The calendar had just turned to August, and it had been a rare day that the Dreemurrs hadn't had anything else going on. They'd been cooped up all day, playing board games, and watching an anime Alphys had recommended to them the last time they'd visited her and Undyne. But with the sun fully set, they could risk going out through the country.

"Do you have phones, wands, and torches?" Toriel asked as Asriel opened the front door.

Frisk checked her pockets, confirming her phone and wand was present. She also had a small pocket flashlight. "Not that you should use your wand, but in case of an emergency.

"It's not that dark, Mom," Asriel complained. "Not with the street lights. We'll be fine."

"You can not blame me for being worried, Asriel. I did lose you once."

"I'm sorry," Asriel apologized. "But I don't think we'll need torches."

"Perhaps not," Toriel said. "Just be aware of the locals. I do not want you to be discovered."

"We'll be careful," Chara promised. "There won't be many people out, other than a few dog walkers." They left, Asriel in the lead, and Chara closing the door behind them. There wasn't any particular goal in mind other than not be in the house any more. They wandered past the closed shops of the high street, and gave the still open Burger King a wide birth.

It was a beautiful, clear night. The stars glittered down from overhead, when they weren't being obscured by local lights. In the distance, if one listened, one could hear the distant roar of cars down the motorway.

It was about twenty minutes into their meander when Asriel spoke up. "Is anyone cold? I mean, all of a sudden, I'm cold."

Frisk couldn't feel anything. It felt like a warm summer day to her. But there was a shivering note in Asriel's voice that she couldn't shake. And then, there it was, like a blast of icy air from Mom's freezer. And it had gotten dark. Really dark, like someone had turned off all the streetlights.

Frisk and Chara pulled out their flashlights, but they weren't as bright as they should have been. They turned the lights this way and that, trying to figure out what was going on. And Frisk heard it. She hadn't _really_ heard that sound since the night she had kept Professor Snape from murdering Sirius Black. The place she had heard it was her nightmares. It was a group of rattling breaths. She swallowed a scream.

"Frisk, what is it? What's going on?" Asriel demanded.

"Dementors. **Run!"**

 _Once again, I'm writing by the seat of my pants. I know a lot of the subplots, one in particular, I can't wait to share... but I'm not completely sure how it comes together. But, you know, time turns, the fire burns. Time out is gone. The game is on._


	2. Dementors Attack

"Dementors?" Asriel asked, looking at Frisk in confusion. "What are Dementors?"

"Later!" exclaimed Chara. She had taken off the moment Frisk had said the word, pausing only to make sure Asriel and Frisk were keeping up with her.

Frisk's mind was already starting to feel foggy. The memory of being powerless and paralyzed on the shores of the Hogwart's Lake had bubbled back up in her mind. The feeling of the dementor's cold dead hands... she was snapped out of the memory by Chara grabbing her by the arm and pulling her around a corner.

The kept running on another deserted street. Down that road and onto another. The one time they would have happy to see a non-magical Brit, and the streets were absolutely deserted. Even the only noise was the sound of their sneakers pounding down the sidewalk. They turned a corner, back onto what Frisk recognized belatedly as the high street. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

Nobody answered her, they were still running. They went around another corner, into an alley behind a store. It was even darker there, the beams from the girls flashlights seemed barely able to penetrate the gloom. They ducked behind a large green dumpster, and Chara pulled her cell phone out. She dialed, her fingers dancing along the digits, the phone nearly slipping out of her hand. "We're behind the green grocerier's," She said urgently. "Dementors! Dementors are chasing us. Hurry! Please!"

Frisk looked at Chara, not quite comprehending what her sister had done. There had been something in her mind for just a moment. Then it was gone again. Beside her, Asriel was whimpering that he was turning back into a flower. She looked back at the entrance of the alley, and saw the cloaked figure turning into it. Frisk backed up, towards the exit at the far end.

But a second cloak had entered that side of the alley too. They were boxed in, like rats in a trap.

"Help me, Frisk," Chara hissed, then she stood up from behind the dumpster, and shined her flashlight directly at the dementor's hood. Was that going to work? Frisk couldn't even remember if a dementor had eyes. "Frisk!" Chara cried. Frisk raised her flashlight up, the combined light illuminating the dementor in a way Frisk had never seen before.

To Frisk's shock, the dementor recoiled. It swiped at the empty air in front of it, sensing its prey but unable to properly locate it.

"Run past it!" Chara cried, grabbing hold of Asriel, and the three of them charged back out of the alley. Frisk was third, and the dementor's thrashing slashes caught her in the arm. It cut through her shirt's short sleeve, leaving fingernail like gashes. The hand itself felt slimy, like a dead fish. Though when it tried to close around Frisk's arm, she managed to pull away.

Chara turned back onto the street, Frisk and Asriel close behind. There was a third dementor blocking their path toward home. They turned the other way. Chara was pointing her flashlight up near the top of the nearby buildings, clicking it on and off, though Frisk was sure nobody could possibly notice that.

They ran down the block, turned a corner, down another block, and another corner. They ended up, to Frisk's surprise, in the same alley they started in, panting and out of breath. "Chara?" Asriel asked, "Why are we back here?"

"We can't go too far," Chara whispered. They crouched, trying to stay hidden the best they could. They watched the ends of the alley, waiting to see if the dementors would come back. For about two minutes, Frisk thought they had gotten away. Then all three of the dementors swooped in at once. The temperature of the alley dropped rapidly. Frisk sat paralyzed as the cloaked figures pushed their way toward the three terrified children.

She watched, helpless and horrified as the dementors homed in on their position. Frisk had to fight the memory of leaving Asriel, as Flowey, alone in the underground. It had been undone, she had fixed it, she had saved him. But the memory was as fresh as if it just happened. Her wand. It was in her pocket. Did she know anything that could help? Anything at all? But nothing came to mind. Just that picture of Asriel, waiting to turn into Flowey.

Around her, her siblings were doing no better. Asriel was whimpering about how many people he had hurt. Chara was on her knees, crying uncontrollably about how "She didn't stop it," and tormenting herself about why she hadn't done anything.

The dementors didn't care about any of this, they had found their quarry. Frisk watched as they approached, then passed her. Two of them reached down to pick up to pick up Asriel by the arms.

 _"_ _ **NO!**_ " screamed Frisk, fighting the depression and the lethargy. The third one grabbed Frisk's upper arms with those cold, dead, hands. "Not my brother! Me! You want me!" Frisk was forced to watch as she struggled as the lead dementor pulled down its hood. She could see Asriel's multicolored soul, brought to the surface, fighting to resist the Dementor's kiss.

A ball of silvery fire passed close enough to Frisk that she felt the heat. It struck the dementor holding Asriel in the side, igniting its robe in brilliant orange fire. Until that moment, Frisk did not know that a dementor could scream. It was no simple sound, not even a loud shout. The scream simply echoed in her head, and Frisk realized they were _her_ screams, the memory of when Asgore and Undyne had broken her soul despite her desperation not to attack them.

The other dementors fled down the alley as more fire flew after them. At the other end of the assault was Toriel, wearing an expression of rage that Frisk had never seen before in her life, not even when Mom had rescued Frisk from Flowey's initial assault.

The air immediately warmed. "Mom?" Asriel asked, or at least tried to ask, before Toriel enveloped him in a hug of relief.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "Are all of you alright?" she repeated, looking at Frisk and Chara.

"Torii? Did you find them?" Asgore appeared just outside the alley. "Oh, thank the heavens."

"I'm alright," Asriel finally said. "I think. But it was awful. I saw..." he stared up at his father, his breath coming in short bursts. "I don't want to see that ever again."

"I want to hear all about it," Asgore said, "But not here. We need to get back under cover. Before the muggles come." He knelt down, looking at Chara, kneeling on the pavement in the alley. "It's over, Chara. You're safe. They're gone."

Chara looked up at their adopted father with tear stained, haunted looking eyes. "I should have helped them. It's my fault."

"Chara!" Frisk said. "You just saved our lives," she went to help her sister off the ground. "I don't know what it is, but it couldn't have been your fault. I promise."

Toriel and Asgore didn't allow for any more discussion, instead escorting them all to the safety of their home.

* * *

"Is there anything you need?" Asgore asked them, as Toriel sat down the three kids in their kitchen. "Anything at all? A hot drink?"

"Do we have any chocolate?" Frisk asked. It was one of the things Madam Pomfrey had told her in Frisk's first year. Chocolate to treat Dementor attacks. "And something warm to drink?"

"I'll put the kettle on," Asgore promised. "And I think we still have some chocolate frogs from the last time we were in Diagon Alley."

"I'll go find them," Toriel said.

Frisk didn't really want them to leave, never mind that they were just going into the next room. But, soon enough, the tea kettle was whistling, and they had returned. Toriel handed out the chocolate frogs, and Asgore put steaming cups of golden flower tea in front of each of them. Frisk took a sip. It felt good, if slightly bitter, going down. They were all just nibbling at the chocolate, even Chara.

Toriel sipped her drink, her wide green eyes taking in each of her children in turn. "Can you tell us what happened?" she finally asked.

Frisk, Asriel, and Chara all looked at each other. None of them actually wanted to speak, each of them knew that one of them should. It was Asriel who finally did, explaining what had happened. Frisk added very little, Chara nothing at all.

Through it all, both Toriel and Asgore listened with rapt attention, saying nothing. When Asriel was finished, Toriel took a sip of her own drink. She wasn't showing it, but Frisk was pretty sure that her rage had barely cooled from the rescue in the alleyway.

Asgore was less restrained. "I will go see Fudge tomorrow," he rumbled. "And I will demand an answer. Dementors aren't supposed to leave Azkaban prison without ministry approval. This is out of control."

"Thank you Asgore," Toriel said. There was silence around the table for several minutes before she spoke again, and her voice was notably softer. "As I understand them, dementors make people live through their worst memories. Do any of you want to tell me what you experienced?"

Frisk finished the last bite of chocolate frog. Asriel and Chara were shaking their heads negatively. "I remembered leaving Asriel in the underground," she said quietly. "I remembered abandoning him, in the dark."

"Frisk," Asriel said, looking up at her. "There was nothing you could have done then. If there was, you would have done it."

"I know," Frisk said. "But that doesn't stop it. It felt so wrong. I thought about it for a week after. And it would show up in my nightmares. It wasn't until I found out about the time turner and started the plan that I was finally able to put it behind me." She looked up at the larger monsters. It was the first time she would admit this to them. "I was terrified about what you would think, if you knew I had left him behind."

"Frisk!" Toriel said. "I promise you, I would not have been upset in the slightest."

"Do not think like that, Frisk. Asriel is right. You were an eleven year old child. And you had just finished saving us all. Did you think that I would believe you would ever, _ever,_ intentionally leave someone behind? Of course not. You are my daughter. And I couldn't be more proud of you."

"Thanks," whispered Frisk. The words were genuine, she knew that. But the memory was fresh in her mind. Maybe sleep would help.

"Asriel? Chara? I will not press you for what you remembered, my children. If you ever want to talk about it, though, you know I will always listen," she said. "But, if you have finished your tea, and your chocolates, I think it is time for bed." She smiled. "Maybe I could read to you before you go to sleep."

Maybe they were a little old for that. But tonight, it felt like a really good idea.

When Asgrore came home from the ministry the next night, he wasn't alone. One might of thought he'd had the Minister with him, but it turned out that wasn't the case.

"Did you finally get a chance to meet with the minister?" Toriel began, then did a double take. "Chara? Could you set an extra place for dinner, please?" she called out. "Good evening, Madam Bones, how can we help you tonight, and may I interest you in some lasagna?"

Frisk looked out of the kitchen in surprise. The witch that had come home with Asgore was an older grey-haired witch with crystal blue eyes, and a square jaw. Frisk had to think. She remembered the name, but couldn't quite place where. "Who's she?" she whispered to Asriel.

"Um, head of magical law enforcement?" Asriel offered. "Didn't she stop by after the muggles were attacked at the campsite last year?"

"Oh, I can't stay that long," Madam Bones. "But you said your children were attacked by Dementors, and you weren't able to see Fudge. I think this actually very important, and I would like to take a statement from you." She sat down at the table, moved a plate aside, and pulled out parchment and a quill. "Can you tell me what happened, in detail?"

Both Toriel and Asgore looked to their children. "Would one of you be willing to tell Ms. Bones what happened a few nights ago?" Asgore asked. Frisk looked down. She really didn't want to relive that night. There was an uneasy silence, and Frisk finally mustered her courage and started the story.

Madam Bones interrupted her almost immediately. "Do you go out often?" she asked, making notes on her parchment. "With Asriel, that is?"

"Sometimes. Always at night. Asriel has to cover up, in case the non magical humans are out," Toriel explained. "But we did not leave the barrier to remain trapped in our own home."

"I understand," Madam Bones said, "Continue, Frisk, please."

Frisk swallowed, and told the story. She was questioned a second time when she described the dementors. Madam Bones got a serious look on her face, and asked if she was sure. "You're positive? It wasn't a boggart masquerading as a dementor, was it?"

"No," Frisk said. There was a reason it wouldn't have been a boggart, and Professor Lupin would have been upset if she couldn't come up with it "There were three of us," Frisk finally remembered. "Asriel and Chara have never seen a dementor before, so it would have been confused about what to become to scare us." Technically, Chara had seen dementors before, but that would have been harder to explain.

"Ah, yes. Very true," Madam Bones said. "How did you finally escape? We had no record of anyone using magic in the area."

"Chara called us from her cell phone," Toriel told them. "We have cloaks with disillusionment charms for emergencies. When I reached my children, I used soul magic to drive the dementors off. In the form of fire, like we used at the World Cup."

"I remember that," Madam Bones said. She tapped her quill on the parchment a few times. "That would certainly explain everything. I don't know my magical creatures well enough. I shall have to research on whether dementors are particularly vulnerable to fire, or if it was something about monster soul magic." She scanned her notes. "I think that's everything that I need," she said finally. "I promise, I will look into appearance of dementors and get back to you."

"Thank you very much, Madam Bones," Asgore said, reaching out to shake her hand. "I look forward to hearing from you."

* * *

That was all they heard for several days. Life somewhat got back to normal. They were allowed to go out, though with one of their parents each time. Frisk and Chara had more Tae Kwan Do classes, and they had settled back into their established routine. If Asgore and Toriel had heard anything from the minister, or Madam Bones, they weren't sharing it. For Frisk's part, she was just fine not thinking about it any more.

The Wednesday after, Asgore came home with a request. "Torii?" He said after they'd all sat down for finner. "Madam Bones would like you and Frisk to come in to the ministry tomorrow."

"What?" Toriel asked. "Why?"

"Apparently, there is going to be some sort of trial tomorrow, involving Harry Potter's use of underage magic," Asgore explained. "Madam Bones says he's accused of using the Patronus charm in a muggle area. She would like you two there to give testimony."

"Testimony?" Toriel asked, perplexed. "What testimony could we possibly give? I was not present to witness the incident."

The Patronus charm? Frisk had heard of it before, though it wasn't one she had been taught to use. But, if they wanted them to give testimony, then... "It's the charm used as a defense against dementors," Frisk told them.

Asgore and Toriel both reacted with horror. "Do you mean someone else was attacked by dementors?" Asgore asked.

"Maybe?" Frisk said. "But that's the only effect I know of from the Patronus charm. Lupin mentioned it my first year."

"When do they want us there?" Toriel asked.

Asgore stood up to fetch a piece of parchment from his briefcase. "Harry Potter's hearing is scheduled for 9 AM at my office. If Ms. Dreemurr and Frisk are available, I would like them there about an hour earlier, maybe a little bit more. I think it will help smooth the hearing, if you can make it." He put the paper down. "I know you don't want to relive the experience again, Frisk, but if your testimony is useful to them, would you be willing to give it?"

Frisk shuddered. "It would be just a small hearing, right? Just a few people?"

"Madam Bones, Harry Potter, and his advocate. I think that's suppose to be Mr. Weasley," Asgore confirmed. "And your mother will be with you, of course."

"Of course I will," Toriel said. "I cannot believe that anyone else was attacked by those horrible creatures. Frisk, if it stops it from happening again, I really would appreciate it. And I think it has to be you," she said, forestalling Frisk's next question. "You were the one that recognized them."

Asriel and Chara didn't say anything, but Frisk's opinion, they looked a bit relieved. Frisk couldn't blame them. "Okay," Frisk said, looking up at Toriel and Asgore. "I guess I get to wake up early tomorrow."


	3. The Dementor Defense

Frisk woke to the sound of a light knocking on her bedroom door. She rolled over and looked, bleary eyed, out the window into the morning darkness. So she rolled back over and tried to go back to sleep.

The knock returned a bit louder. Frisk opened her eyes again, looked up at the ceiling, and suddenly remembered that she was supposed to go to the Ministry of Magic that morning. She stood, then called to the door that she was awake. Turning to the closet, she thought for a moment before deciding to wear mundane clothing, even if she was going to the ministry.

Dressed, Frisk wandered down to the kitchen. Toriel was already scrambling eggs next to fried bacon. Chara and Asriel must have been still asleep, because they were nowhere to be seen. At that moment, Frisk was slightly envious. "Where's Dad?" Frisk asked. She was hoping he was going with them.

"He's taking the morning off to watch Chara and Asriel. And to sleep in a little," Toriel told her, smiling. She divided the eggs and bacon onto two plates, putting one in front of Frisk, and keeping the other for herself.

When they finished breakfast, Toriel guided Frisk into the sitting room, and got the Floo powder down. A pinch of powder (and a sneeze or two) later, and Frisk was standing in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

Unlike when Frisk was here about a year ago, there was a huge throng of witches and wizards (and a few nonhumans as well) all bustling in on their way work. Toriel took Frisk's hand in her paw as they made their way through the crowd to the visitor's desk. Frisk recognized the wizard behind it, it was same one who'd been here last year, when prompted, she handed over her wand for it to be weighed. The wizard read the receipt, confirmed that length and monster fur core, and pierced the 'receipt' before handing Frisk her wand back.

"Oh, excuse me, Eric? Where is Madam Bones office?" Toriel asked politely. "We have a meeting in about fifteen minutes."

The warden pointed past the security checkpoint. "Up the elevator, it's on the second floor, just past the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts." He thought for a second, No problems are there?" he asked, looking down at Frisk. "Not in trouble are you?"

Frisk shook her head negatively.

"No, we're going up to give a statement," Toriel said, she started to pull Frisk away, but Eric stopped her.

"You came in with Floo Powder right?" Eric asked. Toriel nodded. "Frisk needs a visitor's badge. You don't, you're visibly a dignitary, but I got raked across the coals for not giving your kids one last time." He reached over to a small stack of papers, picked up a quill, and quickly wrote on it. "Witness, then?" Eric inquired. Toriel nodded a second time. He wrote a bit more, and handed the paper down to Frisk.

The paper was a small and silvery placard like material, backed with a goldish pin. It said, in clean, clear script, "Frisk Dreemurr, Hearing Witness." Frisk attached it to her shirt, and Eric waved them forward.

"Have a good day, Eric," Toriel said as they left the desk. They moved past the security checkpoint into the huge throng of wizards and witches. It took several different elevators opening before they were finally able to pile into a packed one. "Second floor, please," Toriel called out.

The elevator was notably emptier when they arrived on the second floor. Toriel looked down the hall they found themselves in. A sign just outside pointed the direction of "Magical Law Enforcement, and in the other direction, the "Auror Headquarters", and "Wizengamot Administration Office".

Toriel frowned. "I should have asked for better directions. Excuse me, sir," Toriel said, addressing a bald African-Brit wizard, as he emerged from a neighboring elevator. "Where is Madam Bones office?" Toriel asked.

"Here, I'll show you," he said, leading the way through a door, into a large open floor workplace. He adjusted his fez-like hat, which might have been in danger of falling off. "I just need to drop something off for my coworker," he told them. He handed off a manilla folder to a older witch with an eyepatch. "I'm still waiting for Weaseley's report on firelegs," he told her. "Should be here in a few minutes. I'll browbeat him then."

"Firelegs?" asked Toriel. "What are those?"

"Eh, you know," the witch said. "The things muggles use to kill each other. Muggle law enforcement uses them."

Toriel looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Firearms, you mean. Guns," Frisk said. "You've seen them in Alphys's animes," she told her mother.

"Whatever," the witch said. "We've had reports the Sirius Black is using one of the longer ones. They might have a better range than wands."

"I still say that's ridiculous, there's no reason to use muggle weaponry when you've got a wand that can cast unforgivable curses. Unless he thinks we've developed a way to track the use of the spell. Which, okay, the department of mysteries tries once in a while to do, but they've never managed it. Anyway, you were looking for Madam Bones office, this way," the wizard said, leading them out a different door then they came in. He pointed at the door, nodded, and headed back the way he'd come.

It was a nice looking wooden door, and it bore a gold nameplate, advertising it was "Madam Bones" and below that, "Head of Magical Law Enforcement".

Toriel approached the door and knocked on it.

"Coming," a woman's voice called from the other side. The door clicked open and Madam Bones stepped out, and closed the door behind her. "I'm glad you're early," she said. She pulled out her wand, gestured, and the lock clicked. "Fudge, for some unknown reason, has moved the proceedings down to the old court rooms," she told them. "Come, come, walk with me," she continued, leading the way briskly through a maze of corridors, ending up back at the elevators.

"So," Toriel said, as the elevator descended back down. "What do you need us to do?"

Madam Bones rolled her eyes. "Honestly? Just tell them what you told me. Then answer any questions Fudge, Ms. Umbridge, or I ask," Madam Bones said crisply, pressing the lowest button. "I'd been trying to get this trial called off, or at least take a statement from the accused, but Fudge is being obstinate." She looked like she was about to say something else, but held her tongue. They rode the rest of the way in an uncomfortable silence.

Once they got to the bottom of the elevator, Frisk found herself in a long, bare looking corridor. It was almost completely featureless except for a couple of torches and an obsidian door at the far end. Instead of leading the way towards the big black door, Madam Bones led the way to a flight of steps leading even further down.

This corridor was even darker and danker. Comparing it to Professor Snape's dungeon would have been a discourtesy to her potions professor. The doors they passed were wooden, thick, with large black metal keyholes. "Courtroom 10," she said. "I wish I had time to brief you further, but I must address the Wizengamot before the defendant arrives."

She was about to open one of the large doors, when she paused. "I'm sorry, where are my manners?" she said. She performed a complex charm with her wand, and immediately, two functional wooden chairs appeared next to the wall, sightly down the corridor. "Wait here, please. Someone will come for you when it is time for you to testify."

Frisk felt really uncomfortable, and looked up to Toriel. Her mother smiled down at her, took her hand, and led her into one of the chairs. As they waited, a few stern looking wizards and witches filed past them, into the wooden door. Frisk pulled her phone out. It was just before eight. No wonder she was still tired.

"You should probably put that away, Frisk," Toriel told her. "I'm not sure people would recognize it."

Frisk nodded and put it back in her pocket. She sat quietly as a few more wizards walked in. She was on the verge of falling asleep in the chair, but the sound of running footsteps on the stone woke her back up. Frisk looked up as she saw Mr. Weasley leading fellow Gryffindor member Harry Potter at almost a dead run. Harry pulled the courtroom door open, disappearing inside. Mr. Weasley gave the inside a long look, then closed the door behind Harry.

"Arthur?" Toriel asked, looking up.

"Oh," said Mr. Weasley, panting, finally looking noticing them. "Hello, Toriel, how are you this morning?"

"I am well, but are you not going in after young Potter?" she asked. "Are you not his advocate?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head negatively, wiping his brow.

"That would be me, actually," said Headmaster Dumbledore said, striding down the corridor. Behind him was older woman in non magical clothing. "I don't have long, but may I ask why you are here?" he asked Toriel politely.

"Madam Bones has asked us to testify to the fact that my children were attacked by dementors on the second of August, Mister Dumbledore."

Frisk saw an emotion she didn't see very frequently on the headmaster's face: surprise. But it was gone almost immediately. "Has she now? It seems she is quite on the ball. Very well. I hope you don't mind if I ask Ms. Figg to testify first. But I must go in before the trial really starts."

"Not at all," Toriel said as Dumbledore turned toward the door.

Frisk stood immediately after Dumbledore closed the door behind him. "Would you like to sit down, Ms. Figg?"

"Or you, Arthur? You look like you are going to collapse."

Mr. Weasley collapsed thankfully into the chair, but Ms. Figg demurred. "Mr. Dumbledore said it wouldn't be long." As it turned out, it wasn't long before the door opened from the inside and a red haired man looked around, locked on to Ms. Figg, and escorted her inside."

"Are you alright, Arthur?" Toriel asked. "You seem to have finally caught your breath."

Mr. Weasley looked at the courtroom. "I suppose I am. Why is the hearing being held down here? Is he going to be judged by the whole court? For an underage use of magic charge?" he asked. "What is Fudge thinking?"

"Madam Bones asked the same question," Toriel told him.

Mr. Weasley furrowed his brow, but didn't say anything further.

About five minutes later, the young man led Ms. Figg back out. After looking back in for a second, the young man stepped back out, nodding to Frisk and Toriel. "Come on in," he said. His gaze fell on Mr. Weasley for a moment, then rapidly looked away.

"Thank you," Toriel said, taking Frisk by the hand, and followed him into the courtroom.

The courtroom was stone, cold, and uninviting. The only light was a few torches spread throughout the room. About half the room was surrounded by benches. The lower ones were empty, but the upper ones were full of wizards and witches that Frisk could barely see. They were looking down at them with a mixture of grim and curious looks. Frisk felt Toriel's paw tighten just slightly.

In the center of the room was a pair of chairs. A cozy looking arm chair, and plain brown wooden chair that was covered top to bottom in cruel looking iron chains. Was it Frisk's imagination? Or were those chains moving slightly, on their own? At least they hadn't seen fit to attack Harry yet, but he was sitting on the chair like there was a viper taking up the rest of it.

"Another witness?" Minister Fudge said. Frisk's attention was pulled to the bench immediately in front of Harry. The young man who'd escorted them in was climbing into it to join Minister Fudge (who she recognized), Madam Bones, and another witch, who seemed to be intent on sitting as far out of the light as she could. "Wait, Toriel Dreemurr? And her adopted daughter Frisk? What could they possibly have seen?" Minister Fudge demanded.

"I believe you were saying the odds on dementors showing in Little Whinging were so long Ludo Bagman wouldn't take them. While I do not believe such odds actually exist, I have additional testimony that they were seen in the Greater London on the same night as Harry's attack..."

"But the behavior of dementors, real or imagined, are not the subject of today's trial!" the minister exclaimed.

"They were also going after a child." The headmaster finished, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "And whether or not dementors were in the London area is in fact, extremely relevant. Ms. Frisk, can you please tell the court what happened to you?"

Frisk stared up at the large crowd of wizards staring down at her. Harry was looking around in his chair in astonishment. The only three people not staring at her was Toriel, Madam Bones, and the headmaster, who only had an expression of polite interest. At that moment, Frisk felt very small, and the words were not coming.

"It is okay, my child. Speak when you are ready," Toriel told her softly.

"Dumbledore," the minister said. "We do not have time for this. I want this trial concluded today!"

Toriel's head snapped up. "I had thought," she said, before the headmaster could respond. Her eyes were narrowed, and she had an almost laser like focus on the minister. "That the purpose of a trial was to arrive at the truth, no matter how long it took. I am not wrong about this, am I?"

The minister was taken aback. "No, no, of course not," he sputtered. "Take as much time as you need, Frisk."

Frisk closed her eyes, and tried to block out the mental image of the wizards surrounding her. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes again, and told the story of the attack once again. When she was about to tell how Asriel was almost kissed, she was interrupted by a loud clearing of a throat from the witch next to Minister Fudge. "How do you know they were dementors, had you ever been attacked by them before?"

"Yes," Frisk said. "At Hogwarts, when they were looking for the escaped criminal." It was quiet enough that Frisk was pretty sure she heard Toriel's eyes pop open.

"Now, now," the minister said hurriedly. "You don't need to go into that right now. The court should accept she has and let her get on with her testimony."

Frisk could feel the heat pouring from her mother's eyes. The response had been deemed acceptable. Barely. "That is when the dementor lowered his hood, and was ready to kiss my brother," she finished. A loud mutter rippled across the assembled jurists.

"How did you drive them off?" Madam Bones asked.

"I did, with soul magic," Toriel said, and concluded where Frisk had dropped off. There was silence afterward for almost a minute or two. Even Dumbledore seemed to be digesting this. "I saw them, too. I struck one of them."

"How is this the first I've heard of this?" Fudge asked. His voice was quieter now. The anger was gone, and replaced with an uncomfortable confusion. "Dementors attacking the monster prince and his siblings?"

Madam Bones nudged him and spoke quietly. Then she said, in a louder voice. "Do you have any other questions for the witness?"

"No," said the unknown witch.

"No," echoed Minister Fudge. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Dreemurr, Frisk. You may go."

Toriel bowed, then she took Frisk's hand in her paw, and led them both from the courtroom. When they were safely outside, "Let's not leave just yet, I'd like to hear from Madam Bones how it went." So they returned to their chairs.

"Don't you want to hear about the dementors attack at the school?" Frisk asked.

"I knew already. The headmaster told us about a week after the term. He said it had slipped his mind after Asriel and Chara came back to us. I cannot fault him for that. Yet, the minister, who was, as I understand it present for it, never said a word. I wonder why." She gave a thin, cool, smile. Then it warmed again. "But I would like to hear the story from you. If you are ready."

So Frisk told her the story, quietly, so no one (other than maybe Mr. Weasley, and he most likely knew anyway) would hear she'd aided a criminal. By the time she had finished, the door had opened and her headmaster was striding purposely out, with a smile on his face. "Thank you for your testimony." He looked at Frisk for a moment. "That reminds me, I am quite fascinated by monster soul magic, would you have time this afternoon for a conversation, and perhaps a demonstration?" he asked politely.

"Certainly," Toriel said, smiling. "Send an owl before you come?"

"I will," he promised. The headmaster gave them a polite bow, and headed back, with Miss Figg, towards the stairs.

Harry Potter emerged about a minute later. He was swept up into the suddenly excited Mister Weasley. They too, headed out.

"Not guilty," Toriel nodded. "Seemed like the direction it went."

"It did," Madam Bones said, causing Frisk to jump slightly. She hadn't seen her come out. "Come with me," she said in a quieter tone of voice. They headed back up the stairs and to the lifts, past a familiar older gentleman with sleek blond hair. Mr. Malfoy, Chara's birth uncle. He was talking to another witch, and paying them no attention.

Once they were safely in the lift back to the atrium, Madam Bones spoke quickly and firmly. "The minister has already prohibited me from launching an inquiry into the presence of dementors in the London area. His senior assistant called it a waste of my time. That's poppycock, but I can't go against him during working hours."

Toriel narrowed her eyes, but said cordially. "So what do we do?"

"I can't work alone, and I don't want to ask my staff for help. Would you or Asgore have extra time to help me research this on nights and weekends?" she asked.

"Asgore would be better at that than I would be," Toriel said. "I'll ask him." The elevator door opened, and Toriel and Frisk stepped out. "I will have him swing by this afternoon," She promised. The golden gate of the lift closed, and traveled further upward. "In the meantime," she said, "Let us go home and find some lunch, alright?"

 _A/N: Hey folks. I really do appreciate the commentary on some of my typos and other errors. I really could use a Beta reader to catch these things_ _ **before**_ _I post them. I'd love to hear any other recommendations as well. But, in the meantime, can I ask you to send anything you spot to me as a PM? That way I can correct it! And as always, thanks for reading. -TZ_


	4. Dinner with Dumbledore

They had been expecting Dumbledore that afternoon, but an owl came relatively early after Frisk had gotten home that brought with it a change of plans. "Dumbledore has been delayed, and will be here this evening instead," Toriel told them, as the owl departed with a snail shell in its mouth. "That will give you some time to clean up."

So there was a bit of baking, and a great deal of cleaning put into motion. Toriel wanted everything to be ready for Dumbledore's visit. Frisk would really have preferred to take a nap, but had to help the others in putting away the things of everyday life.

Asgore got home first, emerging though the fireplace hearth. "Well, that was interesting," Asgore said, as they went to clean up for dinner. "Everyone in the ministry is spreading rumors about the Potter kid, saying he somehow 'got off'. What happened today, Toriel?"

Toriel's eyes were narrowed as she finished distributing salad. "That is not how I would describe it. From the people we talked to, Asgore, it sounded like there was evidence that dementors really did assault him. I would have thought the ministry would have accepted that."

Asgore was about to respond when there was a rhythmic rapping at the door. "That will be the headmaster, I suspect," he said, and headed to the door. He opened the door to find Headmaster Dumbledore standing on their porch, whistling tunelessly. "Good evening, sir," Asgore said. "Please come in."

"Please," Headmaster Dumbledore said. "If we're not at school, Albus will be fine. Unless you want me calling you your highness," he said, smiling.

"Not at all. I prefer to be called Asgore anyway," Frisk's father rumbled. "Come. Toriel's grilling hamburgers. What do you put on yours?"

"Ketchup and mustard. Grilled onions, if you have them, please. And I thank you, Asgore," the headmaster said, following him into the dining room, where Asriel was setting the table. "Good evening, young Asriel," he said. "I hope you are well."

Asriel just nodded as Frisk and Chara emerged from the kitchen, bringing plates of food and glasses. Dumbledore produced a brown bottle of liquid from nowhere, and put it on the table. "I don't remember if you take alcohol, but brandy has always been my drink of choice."

"Thank you, Albus," Toriel said, smiling as they sat. It really felt odd to have the headmaster sitting next to her at a meal.

It felt odd, sitting next to Dumbledore with hamburgers on the table. The small setting was a far cry to where he would normally sit up at the staff table at Hogwarts. "My pardon Frisk," he said, smiling at her. "But would you pass the mustard?"

Frisk blinked out of her musings, reached to her left for the small brown bottle, and handed it to her right. Dumbledore took took it from her politely, opened it, and took a gob of brown mustard from the jar with his knife. Instead of spreading it on the burger, he put it toward the edge of his plate. Finally, to Frisk's surprise, he picked up a french fry, dipped it in the mustard, and popped it in his mouth.

"You put mustard on your fries?" Asgore asked in surprise. "I thought only Sans put mustard on fries."

"My frites, you mean?" Dumbledore said. "I suppose you picked up some of your words from American television. I like mustard, it gives just a bit of tang on the frites. What do you prefer?"

"Ketchup," Asriel and Chara said in unison. "Though dad likes mayonnaise."

"Except with fried fish, with the larger chips," Asgore said, nodding. "With chips, there's only one proper thing to put on it."

"Malt vinegar," agreed Dumbledore, smiling.

They made other small talk, like discussing the surface settlement of monsters, over dinner, but nobody mentioned the events of that morning. It was only when the butterscotch and cinnamon pie was sliced and served that Dumbledore began to talk about what had actually brought him there.

"This is quite delicious," the headmaster said. "But I suppose I must delve into the reasons I am here this evening," he paused for a moment. "Though if you ever wanted to have me back for more pie, I would be hard pressed to say no. I would have to think of a reason..." He waved his hand, "I apologize for the digression. During the trial, Ms. Toriel said that she drove off the attacking dementors with soul magic. I was hoping that you might give a demonstration."

"Why now?" Asgore asked. "We've been on the surface for nearly two years now. You've known about soul magic, haven't you? What has changed?"

"My free time," was the answer. "The first year, I did not learn about soul magic until you came to give your guest lectures, then you had Chara and Asriel returned to you. The second year, I was trying to determine exactly who was trying to sabotage the Tri-Wizard tournament."

"That's fair enough," Asgore said. "Perhaps we should head outside. I am good at control, my wife is better, but we are still literally playing with fire. If you wish to see a demonstration, let us go to a place we can act more free."

It was Chara's turn to clear the table, though Frisk would have to do the dishes later. Once everything was cleaned up, they headed out to the back yard. They didn't have a big yard, as they were confined to the area protected by 'anti-muggle' charms, but there was room enough for a game of a catch.

"The easiest, and most common, soul magic," Toriel said as they stepped on to the back porch, "is the calling. It focuses both your soul, another person's soul, causing them to fully manifest in one spot. This doesn't do any damage to the soul, or a human's body." Frisk felt the echos of Toriel's soul magic, and allowed her own soul up to the surface. Around her, Asgore's silver soul, Chara's red soul, and Asriel's rainbow soul all sprung to life. Probably speaking to Toriel's strength, even Dumbledore's soul blinked into view, a dark red color. It wasn't bright as Frisk's or Chara's, but a deep, darker color, maybe even a blood red.

"It can be possible for people with enough willpower to resist a calling," Toriel explained, as the souls vanished again. "But I've had a lot of practice. The other primary thing Asgore and I can do with soul magic is create fire." Toriel held up one paw, and a moment later, a small ball of swirling red fire blossomed to life in her hand.

"While it is physical fire, capable of setting other things on fire, it is still soul magic, and we have some control of it in flight." With that said, Toriel threw the fire toward a tree on the far side of the yard. At the last moment, the fire curved downward, and splashed against the sidewalk. At least the grass didn't catch alight..

"While we do not use it often," Asgore said. He lifted his hand, and a silvery, red tinted barrier sprung around him. "I have also used soul magic to create a shield. It is not strong against physical force, but defends against other magic. Soul magic at least, I haven't seen it tested against wand magic, probably for clear enough reasons."

The headmaster of Hogwarts appeared thoughtful. "If I remember your lecture correctly, you said that other monsters have other uses for soul magic? What are some of those?"

"Monster soul magic takes different forms based on the monster that uses it, usually something they identify with. Sans, who you've met, and Papyrus his brother, both have magic that take the form of bones. Undyne throws spears of pure force, she's also a lot better at the shields then I am."

"My last question," the professor concluded. "Do you believe that you could teach these skills to humans? Would you want to?"

"I was able to learn 'The Calling', just by having it done to me enough times, and I taught others," Frisk said.

Toriel's eyes had grown wide. "I would have no objection to teaching soul magic to human students!" she said, trying to contain her excitement.

"There is no reason to keep it to monsters, not if humans can use it effectively. Humanity has shared wand magic with us, share and share alike," Asgore agreed.

"Well," the headmaster said, scratching his chin absently. "I was considering the idea of introducing monster soul magic as an elective at Hogwarts, if there was enough to make a full term's work of it. I am still not sure. It would also take a good deal of political capital with the Board of Governors, and with the ministry, neither of which I am sure I have any more. Toriel, would you consider, please, how you would instruct students, and what you would instruct them, in case I can successfully make such a pitch?"

Toriel clasped her paws together, and gave a slight, but excited, bow. "Yes, I will."

Asriel opened the door to let everyone back in the house, and away from the hot summer evening. "Does your lack of political capital," Asgore asked, "Having anything to do with Harry Potter's trial earlier today?"

"Yes," the headmaster confirmed. "For whatever reason, Fudge has gotten it into his head that I am somehow a rival for his position. He doesn't believe what happened at the end of last year. He is conducting an informational war against me through the Daily Prophet, and other publications. Maddening, but not unexpected. Fudge has grown very comfortable as minister. He has even been a good minister in a time of comfort, but slow to react to a crisis."

"What about the dementors?" Chara asked. "Why did they come for us?"

Professor Dumbledore looked from Chara and Frisk over to Asriel, still standing on the porch. "I do not know who targeted you, your siblings, or Harry Potter. It might have been Voldemort, it might have been someone inside the ministry. Someone with power over, or perhaps the respect of, the dementors. I do not know which option makes me more nervous."

Asgore had made eye contact with Toriel. She looked at the headmaster for a moment, then nodded. "Madam Bones," Asgore said, "has asked me to investigate exactly that. She seems to suspect someone in the ministry. The minister himself has told her not to waste the resources of her office, so we will be doing it off the clock, so to speak."

"I am glad to hear it," was the reply. They took a moment to settle in the living room, the Dreemurrs split between two couches, the headmaster in an old beat up armchair that had made the trip from Toriel's house in the underground.

"As much as I would like to help you, I think it will be more useful if I kept my distance, I have too many eyes focused on me at the moment." He tapped his chin, "Ah yes, there was one last thing I would ask of you. But I would like to ask it of you in private." He looked over at the Dreemurr children.

"No," Asgore said, firmly. "Anything you might ask of me, you might as well ask to my family. Frisk has already saved the monster race, and if anything should happen to me and Toriel, they will look to Asriel for guidance, whether he wants it or not. And I trust Chara as a daughter."

Headmaster Dumbledore was thoughtful for a moment, then his face grew serious. "Very well. Asgore, Toriel? Have your children told you what happened the night of the third Tri-Wizard tournament task last term?"

Asgore nodded. "That young Potter was kidnapped by Barty Crouch Jr, who had taken the place of one of the teachers. That he witnessed the rebirth of Voldemort." Frisk had gotten so used to hearing other people call him by anything but his name, that her father's use of it took Frisk somewhat by surprise. "As I understand it, the minister doesn't believe him, or you for that matter."

"But I believe it," Frisk said quietly. The loops, and her failure to save Cedric, she could still feel the weight crawling on her soul. "I don't know why people would think Harry, or anyone, would lie about that."

"Because the truth is terrifying," He explained. "You are much too young Frisk, and your parents were still on the other side of the barrier during the first Wizard War of the UK. A lot of people were killed, ministry aurors, those who dared to speak up against it, even muggles caught in the crossfire. Do you remember the death's head symbol at the world cup?"

"We were with that muggle family," Asgore remembered. "It had the snakes in the eyes."

"Indeed. That was not just the symbol for Voldemort," The headmaster continued, "It was also the calling card of him and his servants. Any time any of them killed in the name of the death eaters, they would mark the location with this symbol. And I saw it a frequently, we all did. And nobody wants those days to return. But they have." He sighed, studying his shoes for a long moment. He looked back up a moment later. "And we must prepare. On that day, Asriel asked what monsters could do. Helping the fight against Voldemort is not something I can ask anybody."

"We are not really fighters," Toriel said. "Soul magic is based around intent, and after what we went through with the six who fell underground, I do not believe Asgore or I could have the intent to hurt anyone, ever again."

"And I will not ask you to do anything you could not do," agreed the professor. "But I think this is uniquely within your capabilities. One of the things the Death Eaters were known to do was hunt down wizards without parentage, 'Muggleborns'. We can create small safehouses, or it is possible to flee to Ireland or the continent. But these are dangerous and not always feasible. There is a unique place that you might lead them, safe from apparition, and very defensible."

"The underground," Asgore said. "Behind the remnant of the barrier."

"And capable of hiding, and housing, a large number of people," Dumbledore finished. "Yes, in the underground. It has the advantage of having quarters already set up over a very large space. All that I think is needed are supplies. Food and such. I do not know how long this war would last, but I believe it will last more than a day or two. It is possible that you may even be besieged." He met Asgore in the eyes, then Toriel. "Do you believe this could be something you could help with?" he asked.

"Is it something that needs to be done?" Toriel asked.

"Needs might be a strong term," the headmaster admitted. "But I think it would be a good idea. Monsters might need to have a place to retreat to as well. I do not know how Voldemort will react to them. He is not completely human-centric, and counts dementors, among other dark creatures, as his allies."

"Then we can do it," Asgore said firmly.

"I thank you. I just ask that you keep this quiet," Prof. Dumbledore said. "There is no use to having a safe, hidden, place if people are prepared to find it, and have discovered a way to penetrate it. I will make sure certain people, such as Minerva, are ready to spread the word when the time comes."  
Toriel nodded, and turned to the three children. "That includes you all. Please do not spread it around Hogwarts," she told them.

"I'm just glad that we do have a way to help," Asriel said. "They have let me learn wand magic, I just want to help in return." Frisk and Chara both nodded their agreement.

"If there's anything else we can do, Albus," Asgore rumbled. "You will be sure to ask us, right?"

"I will," the headmaster promised, holding out a hand. Asgore reached out a large furry paw to shake it. "But I should be off for the night. Thank you both for the lovely dinner, and for indulging in my requests."

"Headmaster," Frisk said as he turned to leave, "Do you have time for one more question, while you're here?"

"Certainly, Frisk, what can I help you with?" Dumbledore asked, turning toward her.

"Why does Mr. Filch," Frisk looked up at her parents, "He's the caretaker, stay at Hogwarts?" she asked. "He hates the place. I think he's jealous of the students. Because he can't use magic, can he?"

"No," Dumbledore replied, and Frisk could see the hint of regret on his face. "He is a squib, born from wizards, but not one of them. He never took it well. He's been the caretaker at Hogwarts for over twenty five years now. As for why he stays, it is so he can continue to live live in the magical community. Not many wizard businesses would hire a squib. There are some, like Miss Figg, who breed magical pets, but they can still find themselves shunned."

"Wouldn't he be happier living in muggle society?" Toriel asked.

"I don't think he was any happier with muggles," the headmaster said, "I think, growing up, he was treated liked an afterthought, compared to his brother who was actually a wizard. He took this rejection and bad temper through muggle schooling, and never made any friends there, either. He's been left without a home, so to speak. Which is why he still works at Hogwarts, because I truly do not know where he would go. I know how he treats students, but I cannot bear to think of what would happen otherwise."

"Is there anything we can do for him?" Frisk asked. "That sounds horrible."

"I am open to suggestions," Prof. Dumbledore told her. "But I've tried more than once, and I have gotten nowhere. If you do have an idea, let me know an I will assist you in any way possible. My door is always open," He smiled. "But for now, I must be off. It is getting late and I do have another appointment."

There was a chorus of good nights, as Toriel led the headmaster to the front door, and closed it behind him.

* * *

The next day was the last day of their of their martial arts training, and the day Opal, Frisk, and Chara were due have their first tests, and prove mastery over the basics of Taekwando. Ms. Oxtoby had brought along a video camera, and was being allowed to film the three of them, as Toriel couldn't be there.

Each of them, individually, was supposed to demonstrate proficiency in strikes, kicks, throws, and controlled falling. As the newest students, Opal and Chara went first. They did well, as far as Frisk could tell, and were presented with a white belt, the first step in a long list of belts and stripes. "I hope you decide to continue this in your next break," their instructor told them. "You have been great students."

Frisk, on the other hand, still had a hard time putting her heart it into it. "You have been a good student as well, Frisk," the Sensei told her, presenting her with her white belt. "But I do not know if continued practice with Tae Kwan Do is for you. If you really want to continue with martial arts, I think I would suggest aikido, it's a much more defensive style, with an emphasis on incapacitating, rather than hurting an attacker. But I can think of a number of gymnastics groups who would love to get your hands on you."

Frisk gave a bow. "Thank you, sensei," she said, taking the belt, and tying it around her waist. "I'm probably more here for my sister and friend than for myself. But thank you for the advice."

After the older students had their promotional tests, they got back into the Oxtoby's silver sedan. "I got a call from Toriel during the program," Ms. Oxtoby told them. "We finally got your book lists for Hogwarts. I'm going to take you into Diagon Alley, and we'll meet up at Flourish & Blots. One last night out before term starts next week."

 _Author's Discussion question: So, what other things could soul magic do? Telekenesis, if anyone asked Sans, but what else?_

 _A/N: Aaaand I forgot to have the Filch discussion in the initial posting of the chapter. Apologies._


	5. All aboard!

The calendar had turned to September, marking an end to Hogwarts summer break. Frisk was woken up early to go through her trunk two more times to make sure all her robes were packed, her academical supplies had been secured, and everything from board games to the magic-accepting phones she got for Christmas last year had been packed away.

While Asgore and the kids were assembling their luggage, Toriel was making blueberry pancakes served with a side of crispy bacon. "We're going to miss you all, you know. It doesn't get any easier doing this the second time, or the third," Asgore told them. This not-revelation caused the three of them to flush pink. Frisk had to assume it was true for Asriel too, but he showed his embarrassment in other ways.

The ministry car arrived promptly at nine AM, a silver Toyota Avalon, pretty much a standard sedan on the outside. On the inside, though, it could fit everybody and everything they needed to bring. All in a vehicle that was slightly smaller than Papyrus's convertible. The whole "bigger on the inside" thing took some getting used to. With one last look at the home they wouldn't see until near Christmas, they piled into the car.

"You know, Frisk," Chara said as they buckled themselves in. "What did you choose as your second elective? I don't think you ever told us." The ministry wizard started the car, and they began head towards London.

"Arithmancy," Frisk said. "Mostly because I had to pick something. Non-magical human studies sounds more practical, but I don't need it. I grew up without magic. I mean, even monsters homes aren't that different than some of the foster homes I saw."

"Just tell us what you think of it," Asriel said, grinning at her. "So we know whether we should take it or not."

"I was really hoping that Mom would get the job of teaching soul magic," Frisk admitted. "That's something I would have liked to learn."

"Just because I am not teaching does not mean you cannot learn," Toriel said reprovingly. "I am sure we can find some books from the old underground library."

"Librarby," Asriel said, his grin growing wider.

"Library," repeated Toriel, trying hard not to smile herself. "I wish you had said something sooner, we could be sending them to school with you. But no matter. We will send them to you with the first owl."

It wasn't that far from their home on the outskirts of Devonshire to London, and all too soon, they had arrived at the station. The monsters had to wear cloaks with disillusionment charms on them again, and still were escorted directly by the ministry to the barrier separating King's Cross proper with Platform 9 and Three Quarters. Not that this bothered anyone, it meant Frisk could have her parents present to say goodbye. It was a far cry from the suspicion that the ministry had for the monsters in her first year.

They bumped into the Creeveys almost immediately. "Hey Dennis," Chara said, waving. Dennis, if Frisk remembered correctly, was in her siblings' year. His older brother Colin was a year ahead of Frisk, and went nowhere without his camera.

"Oh! Hey Chara, Asriel! Colin, look!" Dennis called back, pointing. "Have a good summer?" he said as they got closer. The parents of the two Creeveys did a double take as they saw Asgore and Toriel, but managed wry grins. "Colin, why don't you get a picture of them!"

"Colin," said Mr. Creevey said gently as Colin quickly pulled his camera out. "What have we said about taking pictures?"

"Oh," Colin said. "Uh, Mister, Miss, Dreemurr? Would you mind if I took a picture of all of you together?"

"He just likes taking pictures," Frisk said as her parents shared a surprise glance. "I think he's taken a photo of everyone in our house in one time or another."

"Well, I guess that would be okay," Toriel said, smiling. "Let's go over to the wall here, get out of the way. You can be on the left Frisk, Chara on the Right, and Asriel in the middle? Don't squeeze too much in Asgore!"

There was a bit more scrunching and grumbling, Chara didn't particularly like having her picture taken by anyone, but eventually they lined up so Colin could get his photo. They talked a bit more with the Mr. and Mrs. Creevey. As Frisk understood it, a single wizard child from non-magical parents was uncommon, bordering on rare. Two such wizard children in one family was practically unheard of.

"Toriel," Mrs. Creevey said. "Do you mind if I ask a personal question?" She lowered her voice to a quiet tone, barely heard over the noise of the crowd. "Do you feel comfortable sending your children to Hogwarts, after what happened to Cedric?"

Mr. Creevey instantly stiffened, and it looked like Colin and Dennis were just about ready to bolt towards the train. Frisk felt her heart break a little. If only...

"As much as I ever have," Toriel said. "You got the same letter about Cedric we did, I imagine. I don't think anyone is going to lay siege to Hogwarts. It's still probably the safest place in the magical world after the ministry itself. At the very least, there will be no Tri-Wizard tournament to provide cover for them this year. They'll be fine, Mrs. Creevey."

"I just hope your right. It's scary to think about," she told them, trying to smile, and not quite succeeding. "I just don't want something to happen and not be able to protect them. I mean, I don't know what I would do anyway. This magic is..." she fumbled the train of thought and tried again. "How do you protect someone from something you don't understand?"

"I can relate," Asgore rumbled. "We don't have human magic either." He looked speculative for a moment. "Would you like to meet in Diagon alley after the train leaves and talk about it? We can have lunch at Grillby's."

Mr. Creevey was taken by surprise. "I think me and my wife would like that a lot, sir."

The train's whistle blew. "But, there's something we have to do, first," Toriel said. With that, the Dreemurr's headed for the train, to exchange final hugs, promises to both be safe, and to write the moment they got to the Gryffindor common room.

It was enough that Frisk was pretty sure that Asriel's ears were turning red enough to be seen through his fur.

Dragging their trunks, they climbed aboard the train. Chara and Asriel bumped into someone they knew almost immediately, a red haired girl in a smart blue shirt and skirt combination. "Hey, Mafalda," Chara said. "We solved one of the puzzles with her last term," she told Frisk. "Have a good summer?"

"I did," Mafalda said excitedly. "And..." she began.

"Hey, we're going to grab a compartment," Colin said, "Why don't you join us? There's not many of them of them left empty."

"I'm going to find Steven, Luna, and Ginny," Frisk told them. "Go ahead, I'll catch up with you two later," so saying, she headed deeper in the train. She finally found Luna, and Ginny towards the back of the train. To her surprise, Harry was there as well, and Luna had a copy of the quibbler, which she was reading upside down, which wasn't as great a surprise.

"We're saving seats for Ron and Hermione," Ginny explained. "But it's okay, Frisk. There's still room for a few more."

Frisk looked at her, than at Harry. The older boy looked inscrutable, but he finally shrugged, and Frisk took that as an invitation to sit down with them. "Have a good summer?"

"I did, Ginny, thank you."

The trip to Hogwarts was surprisingly eventful. Neville stopped in, showing off a gift he'd gotten for his birthday, his _Mimbulus Mimbletonia_. Which, as far as Frisk could tell, the material they made dungbombs from. It blasted a sap that was among the worst things that Frisk had ever smelled, managing to hit Harry and Frisk in large amounts. "Sorry," Neville said, helping Ginny to clean it off with a _Scourgify_ charm before pocketing his toad and hurrying off again. An older Ravenclaw stopped in while they were doing it, that Luna identified later as Cho Chang (and Cedric's former girlfriend, so that was even worse).

Opal and Steven swung into the compartment to borrow the missing students seats for a little bit, and they discussed what they'd done on holiday.

"Well, if anyone was going to take up muggle self defense," Ginny said, grinning at Opal, "It would be you. Just don't expect me to want to try it out myself."

"It'd be good for you," Opal protested. She seemed about to say something else, but her eyes darted to Harry for a moment, and swallowed her words. "What about you, Steven? Good summer?"

Frisk's potion partner from Slytherin shrugged. "Honestly, it was kind of boring. Read a lot. People were trying to politic my parents, but they weren't having it. So we didn't go out much."

"What's that?" Ginny asked.

"My Dad is the Wizengamot." That got everyone's attention. "He was at you trial, he voted not guilty. But there was pressure on him from certain members of the ministry before hand," Steven said quietly. That was sobering. "What about you, Ginny?" Steven asked, forcing a bit of cheer into his voice. "Good summer?"

"Yeah, it was alright. I had a good time," Ginny said. "I've been practicing quidditch," she admitted. "I want to try out for the house team next year, as a chaser, when Angelina graduates."

"You'll be up against Asriel, and maybe Chara," Frisk told her. "Dad thinks it'd be a great idea to get involved in sports, though he doesn't push it on me."

Opal didn't respond right away, her eyes were closed. "Oh, I'm sorry Opal," Ginny said. "Did... did you still want to try out for the team?"

Opal, already in her Hufflepuff robes, opened her eyes to stare out the window. Then sighed. "I think so. I was going to try out as a beater, even if we need a seeker now. I think he would have wanted me... well, I mean I know he would have wanted us to keep going."

"You're right," Harry said. "Cedric was a great bloke. I still have nightmares about what happened."

Opal turned around so quickly that it gave Frisk a bit of a jump scare. "What did happen, Harry? Please, I'd really like to know." It really wasn't Frisk's place to say, but she remembered how much pressure Hogwarts could put on a person when students knew there was a story to tell. It might be better just to get it out of the way.

Harry looked ashamed. "I'd really rather not talk about it, Opal," he began, before he was saved by Hermione and Ron walking in.

"Where were you two?" Opal asked.

"We were at the front of the train for a prefect meeting," Hermione told her.

"Oh, congratulations," said Frisk, and everyone echoed the sentiment. "I know you'll make good prefects," she said, smiling. But with the pair of them back, the compartment was a little too full for anyone's taste. So Steven and Opal said their fairwells and went back to sit elsewhere.

With the newly badged Prefects back, there was a discussion of who, among the new fifth years, had become prefects. Most of them were people Frisk hadn't heard of. But there was one she knew kind of well, Draco Malfoy. When his name came up, Harry gave Frisk a rather hard look. It made Frisk uncomfortable, her sister had the name Malfoy at birth, if he was going to give her that look, how was he going to treat Chara? It certainly didn't get any better when Draco invaded their box, lording his prefect badge over Harry. And why were Harry and Hermione exchanging nervous glances afterward? What had Draco said that had gotten under their skin?

"I meant to ask, Frisk, you were attacked by dementors too?" Hermione asked as the sun began to sink lower. "That's what Harry said at the trial."  
Frisk confirmed this, and told her story.

"I wonder if they were the same dementors," Hermione mused. "Any idea if they were sent or if they were rogues?"

"Dad was going to look into that," Frisk said, "With Madam Bones. But I've not heard anything." The train rolled on.

Luna dropped her copy of The Quibbler at one point, and the three older students had a bit of a laugh over some of the things that had printed this month, only for Frisk and Ginny to both defend their friend. The weather was murky as they got into Hogsmeade. The students wandered out one at a time to change into their robes.

Ron and Hermione left the compartment first, apparently, they were supposed to be on the watch if anything went wrong. Ginny left just ahead of Frisk, with Harry staring open mouthed at something out the window. "You okay, Harry?" Frisk asked.

"I think so?" Harry said as they exited the carriages, Luna carrying Ron's new owl. Then he approached the carriages, and grabbed at Ron's arm. "No, you can see them right?"

"See what, Harry?" Ron replied blankly. Harry let him go, and Ron climbed into the carriage.

"I've always been able to see them," Luna said, smiling her smile at Harry. "You're just as sane as I am."

"He can see what?" Frisk said, blankly. "Is there some reason people can't see those winged skeletal horses?" But the question went unanswered, and Frisk hurried to find a carriage with an open seat.

* * *

For a change, Frisk was relaxed as she sat down about midway up the Gryffindor table on side of the hall. She wasn't facing the sorting. She didn't have siblings who were about to get sorted and had nightmares of ending up in Slytherin. She could simply enjoy the sorting, and enjoy the feast afterward.

Chara and Asriel sat down next to her, clearly thinking similar thoughts. Dennis was on their other side, just as excited as he was last year. "Hey, where's Hagrid?" Dennis asked, causing the entire section to look up towards the staff table. He was pretty obviously missing. It would have been easier to overlook a mountain the miss Hagrid at the staff table.

"Miss Grubbly-Plank is here," Ginny told them, sitting a bit down the other way. "I saw her at the train station. She covered for Hagrid last term for a bit. But I don't know where that means he is."

Frisk frowned. Other members of Gryffindor had spoken highly of Professor Hagrid, and she'd the chance to meet him once in her first year. It was one of the reasons she'd elected to take Care of Magical Creatures. It didn't change her decision, but she did wonder what had happened. That's when she saw the person who had joined the staff table.

She poked Asriel hard enough that he gave a yipe. "That's her, remember? She was at the announcement that you were going to be allowed to carry a wand," Frisk said, pointing at short, semi-squat woman who resembled nothing more than a froggit in a bright, medicine pink cardigan. "She was at Harry's trial, too. She tried to call into question me saying what happened."

They were interrupted from this discussion by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, the new first year students, and the sorting hat. Which, as it had Frisk's previous two years, broke into song.

"That was some warning, wasn't it?" Asriel asked afterward.

"I thought it was pretty good advice, actually," Frisk responded, before McGonagall stared out into the speaking students in the great hall, silencing all of them.

After the sorting, Dumbledore basically refused to give a speech, and instead invited them to eat. And frankly, after that train ride, Frisk was famished. After the food came the start of term notices and announcements, the Dark Forest was out of bounds – as usual. Mr. Filch had a reminder there was no magic to be used to in the corridors. And there was two staff changes to announce.

Frisk, and probably most of the hall, had already guessed what those two changes was. Though he announced that Professor Grubbly-Plank would be 'Taking Care' of Care of Magical Creatures, which wasn't the same way the he introduced Ms. Umbridge.

What Frisk wasn't prepared for was the new professor's speech. Prof. Umbridge seemed to be saying a lot without actually saying anything. Frisk, in fact, felt her focus slipping, something that usually only happened in History of Magic. In fact, her mind had so wandered that it took Asriel poking her to realize Chara was trying to get her attention.

"Progress for progress's sake must be stopped?" Chara repeated, her eyes narrowed. "She's not actually talking about Asriel, is she?"

"She can't have meant that, not really," Frisk said. "I mean, Asriel has the support of the ministry, right?" But her mind was snapped to the present, and she focused on the rest of the speech, which really did have some uncomfortable tones to it.

"I don't know what she did mean, then," Chara said, as they were about to head up the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. "Has Dumbledore changed something else that the ministry is upset with?"

"Wait," Frisk said, interrupting the thought. She fished a bag out of her pocket. The bag contained two separate plastic bags, containing both cookies and cat treats, and a note on the outside. "I want to put this on Mr. Filch's door before we go up. They detoured towards the caretaker's office.

"Didn't you try this once before?" Asriel asked. "In your first year? I remember you saying something about it."

"I did. But I'm not ready to stop trying," Frisk said, as Asriel and Chara exchanged a knowing look. "But, well, as for the ministry, maybe it has to do with Harry's trial, or his claim that the big V is back," she suggested. "The minister was really unhappy with the way he started preparing for a return to war. Uh..." she stared at up at the portrait of the Fat Lady. "I don't suppose anyone caught the password."

 _A/N: Sorry about the long time between updates. It's not as easy as the first book. But there's a subplot I really want to get to, so I promise I'll keep working at it.  
And as always, thanks for reading! - TZ  
_


	6. Hard Landings

_Saturday, August 31st_

It was about a quarter to nine in the morning when the plane landed. They had taken the red eye from Baltimore-Washington International non stop to Heathrow, which was a very long flight, even if one was asleep most of the way. It was a bumpy landing, too. It left the passengers somewhat rattled, but otherwise unharmed. The family of three, seated towards the rear of the aircraft, waited patiently for nearly all of the other passengers to disembark before the stewardess could come down the aisle with the wheelchair.

"Did you have a good flight?" she asked politely. She set up the wheelchair and set it next to the aisle seat. She held out her arm as the boy pushed himself out of the airplane seat, and climbed over to the wheelchair, panting slightly from the mild exertion.

Tony Macintosh looked up to her, grateful for the assistance, hating that he needed it, but he had to resign himself to needing it months ago. "I did, thank you," he said quietly.

"Here, you dropped your cap," his mother said, placing the Washington Nationals cap on his bald head. She looked up at the stewardess, "Thank you for your help." Mrs. Macintosh stood, carefully walked to the aisle and, followed by her husband, pushed the wheelchair down the aisle and out onto the jetway. It wasn't long before they exited into the airport proper.

Heathrow was a big place. A really big place. The Macintosh's had gone about ten minutes down this or that hallway before they even reached the line for customs. Tony and his mother waited for his father to explain the purpose of their visit. He could tell when his father told the customs agent about his illness, he was used to seeing the sympathetic looks. Shortly after that, they got the okay to head out through the next long hallway, down a ramp, and towards baggage claim.

Their luggage had beaten them to the carousels. Dad was on the phone as Mom worked to get all three large suitcases off the belts. Satisfied, he went to help Mom. "Captain Meade is almost here, he's on the passage from parking, let's just find a spot to sit, until he gets here." Parking Tony's wheelchair to one side, Tom's Parents sat on a bench.

"Mary! Robert!" came the shout a short time later. "It's good to see you, Colonel… or I hear it's General now, congratulations!" Tony looked up. Captain Meade of the Royal Air Force was a tall, lanky man, his straight cut brown hair was giving hints of going grey. He wore a button down blue striped shirt over khakis. His cheerful face lost his smile when he saw Tony.

Tony averted his eyes, looking back at the terminal wall. It was that look that he'd become so used to seeing, and it made him feel terrible. When he'd last lived in the UK, about five or six years ago, Captain Meade had been one of his father's best friends, they'd flown combat missions together in the first Iraq war. He had been over frequently. Now… now he was just another reminder how short Tony's life was destined to be.

"Here, let me get your luggage," the Captain said, forcing himself to smile, "and I'll show you to the car." Tony's mother took control of the wheelchair, navigating an elevator, a walkway, out into the Heathrow parking garage. Tony managed to climb into the back of the sedan, while everyone was putting things in the trunk.

"Do you plan on renting a car?" Captain Meade asked as they headed out of the parking garage, towards the British Motorway system.

"If I have to. But it's nice of you to have us over. This has the possibility of being a long stay, depending on the court proceedings. A hotel would have gotten real expensive real quickly."

"I can imagine. When is your hearing? Where is it, for that matter?"

"Tuesday," Dad replied. "In Watford."

"That's not so bad," the Captain said, accelerating to highway speeds. They reached their destination, in West Ruislip, after a decent length car ride. They parked on the street. "Here we are," the Captain said, pointing out the window. His house was smaller than their home back in Maryland, but bigger than their own home had been when they'd lived in the UK. "I'll get the wheelchair out of the boot."

They were met on the walk by his wife, who Tony hadn't known before. She was slightly shorter than her husband, with muddy brown hair that looked at Tony with sympathy. "So these are the Macintoshes," she said, averting her eyes to focus on his parents. "Pleasure to meet you at last. Frank's said so much about you."

"Only good things, I hope," Dad said, grinning at her.

They wheeled Tony into the foyer, "I was thinking we could give your son the guest room," she said. "One of you to the couch, and the other can use an air mat..."

"I can take the couch," Tony said. "I'm okay with that." He could see the concern in everyone's face, and it frustrated him. "I'll be fine. I promise."

"Well," Ms. Meade said, "If you're sure, that would make things easier." The rest of the evening went pretty quietly. They had dinner together, and Tony mostly stayed quiet. There was only so much one could get involved in a couple of old military buddies getting back together. There were a few stories of old times. He really only got interested when his former foster-sister came up. "What was her name again?" Ms. Meade asked.

"Frisk," Tony said, looking up. "Her name is Frisk."

"How did Frisk end up with you?" Ms. Meade asked. "I mean, a British orphan with an American family?"

"Do you remember the troubles about ten-fifteen years ago?" Mom began. "I mean, not those troubles, but the problems Centrica had with explosive gas leaks?"

"I do," the Captain said. "There were so many deaths that there were twin investigations about them, both terrorism and gross negligence. But neither of them went anywhere, it was a minor scandal."

"Even six or seven years after that, there were dozens of children left without a family. Enough that the BBC did a report on it," Dad continued.

"And I saw it," Tony said. He remembered it vividly, and managed a smile. "I told my parents that I was willing to give up my bed. Because they all needed one. They needed a family."

"We went down to the center that Saturday. I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to be able to foster, as like you said, we're not British citizens. But considering all the publicity, and just how many kids there were, they allowed it anyway. Especially since all we were asking was for someone who was Tony's age," Mom explained.

"She was so quiet when she came home with us. She shrank back whenever someone tried to talk to her," Tony said. He could picture her in the car, not saying anything, just staring out the window.

"Wait! Was she abused?" Ms. Meade asked.

"That is a very good question," Dad said. "We didn't see any physical evidence of it. We didn't want to pry, either, and open any old memories. So... I don't think so, but I can't be certain."

"Frisk never said anything to me, either," Tony confirmed. "She started coming out of her shell after a few weeks of living with us. She was..." and Tony felt his voice break, and tears trickle from his eyes. "She was my friend, my best friend," he smiled through the tears.

Silence hung in the air for a few minutes. Mom finally broke it. "We all would like to see Frisk again. But we knew what we were getting into. If Frisk was ever actually adopted, we wouldn't be able to have contact with her until she came of age, and only if she came looking for us. We just never dreamed..."

"I understand," Ms. Meade said. Everyone was looking at Tony, and he closed his eyes, frustrated, in response. "Who would like some desert? I made crumb cake!"

When the dessert arrived, Tony just picked at it. It wasn't that the cake didn't taste good, it did. But, his mind had wandered to Frisk again. Where was she now? Did she remember him? Tony hoped so, where ever she was.

* * *

The courthouse was an impressive, imposing structure. Dad wheeled Tony in the door, and towards the waiting area. Captain Meade walked beside them, standing next to where they parked the wheelchair. Then it was waiting, a lot of it, until the bailiff called them in.

The judge was an older gentleman with black robs, and he looked down on them from a raised bench. "General Macintosh?" he asked.

"Mister Macintosh here is fine, Dad said. "That's my wife, and that's my son."

"And why are you here today?" The judge asked, consulting a piece of paper. "Break an adoption seal?" He looked down at Dad. "The only person who can do that is the adoptee when he or she comes of age."

"I understand that is the rule," Dad said. "I'm asking for an exception because of my son,"

"Wait," Tony said, and he struggled to stand out of the wheelchair. He grabbed one arm of it, swaying slightly.

"Tony, you should stay seated," Mom told him, but he ignored her.

His legs were shaking, "Your honor..." he began, then felt his voice leave him. Was that right?

"Your honor is fine, go ahead."

"My name is Tony Macintosh. For two and a half years, Frisk was my sister. Then we left the UK, and had to leave her behind." The judge frowned, for a second, perhaps thinking he was witnessing a performance. He looked down at his desk, consulting a paper. "But... six months ago, I was diagnosed with Leukemia. I will be dead," he continued, shutting his eyes. "Before Frisk is allowed to know. I want to see her before I die. Please sir... I want to see my sister."

There was quiet as he finished, and collapsed back in the chair. Dad held out a piece of paper, then walked to the Judge's desk to hand it to him. The judge scanned it. "The prognosis from the Navy hospital in Bethesda and from civilian US doctors," Dad said.

"I see that. Advocate?" the judge said, holding the papers out again. A smartly dressed man strode up to the bar and took them, looking them over. "I'm inclined to grant the request. They're not doing it to pressure the adopted families, and it's true that it can't wait. What do you think?"

"You said you flew with the Royal Air Force in the first Iraq war?" the advocate asked.

"More or less, I flew with Captain Meade in joint missions," Dad said. "The judge has my service record." The Judge nodded in agreement. "An exemplary record, sir. Thank you for your service."

"Would Frisk want to see you?" the advocate asked.

"Yes," Tony replied. "We were friends while we were living together. I don't think she'd forgive me if I left without telling her goodbye."

The judge and the advocate looked at each other. "What's the phrase?" the judge asked, "That escalated quickly?"

"It certainly did," the advocate agreed. "I don't think I have an objection. It's an extenuating circumstance."

"Very well," the judge said. "I'll have the order written up and signed."

* * *

With only a break for lunch, they were on the way to the orphanage, signed order in hand. Tony only got a brief look the drab outside before they wheeled in him inside, and even a briefer look of the grey foyer before they were escorted into the office of the matron.

"How can I help you?" she asked in a decidedly uninterested voice.

Dad put the judge's paper on the table. "We've a court order here, we're here to learn who adopted Frisk."

"Last name?" she asked.

"Didn't have one. She was a found child. So while she was with us, she went by our last name, Macintosh."

"Eh, can't be that many Frisk's in here," she said, still sounding bored. Tony felt his temper rise. How could she not know Frisk's name? She'd lived here, right?

"Okay. So it's in the cabinet. 'D'. For Dreemurr, apparently." She frowned. "That's one heck of a typo, isn't it? Anyway." She stood up, made her way to the file cabinet, unlocked it, and pulled it open. She ruffled a few folders, and pulled out a sealed large envelope. But as she held it in her hand, she actually started to put it back. "No. We're not supposed to give it out. It's sealed for a reason."

"Wait, what?" Dad said, a frown forming on his face as his voice rose. "We have a court order, you have to give to us."

The matron looked conflicted. She put the envelope on the table. "I mean, I get that, but it's not right. Frisk was promised privacy. I'm supposed to ensure that, even if the Judge didn't."

Dad looked upset, began to reach down to pick up the envelope and then _he_ stopped. "Look, maybe she's right."

Tony just couldn't believe what he was hearing. He forced himself up off the wheelchair, gripping the edge of the table, grabbing the envelope, even as a voice in his head started to shout that this would get him in trouble.

"I don't care!" he shouted as loudly as he could, which wasn't actually that loud. He felt something welling up in his chest, a feeling that fought that voice in his head. He wasn't going to be kept from seeing his sister.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Mom asked, alarmed.

He ignored her and ripped the seal. The voice in his head got louder, shouting at him he was breaking the law, that he was going to go to jail.

With a cry of "I'm dying!" he yanked out the papers that were in the envelope. When his eyes rested on the front page, all of a sudden the voice in his head silenced again. He scanned the page, and his eyes grew wide.

"No," he said, and sank back into his chair again. "No, that can't be right. Look at this."

"Oh, dear, you know we're not supposed to..." Mom said.

He reached up, taking her arm, gripping it tightly until she was forced to look at it, and he shoved the papers under face. The moment he did so, she ceased struggling. "How is that possible?" She took the group of papers. "You need to see this, both of you. What is your problem?" She demanded, forcing first Dad, and then with their combined effort, the matron, to look at the papers.

"They're blank!" she exclaimed.

Dad rounded at the woman, who had a terrified look in her face. "I... I don't know!"

They looked over the papers, and anything that was supposed to be filled out wasn't. The only thing they could find with any ink on it at all was a paper promising to care for Frisk as long as they would live, and it was signed "Asgore Dreemurr" and "Toriel Dreemurr".

"Now what do we do?" Tony asked. "Now what do we do? Frisk's been kidnapped." The anger had faded away, and had begun to be replaced with hopelessness. Dad put a hand on his shoulder, but he could see the worry there, too.

"Something strange is certainly going on…" Dad said, sharing a look between Mom and the matron. Though that second look might have been more of a glare.

"I got the number of the family advocate," Mom said. "The one from court this morning. Let's give him a call and see if he has any suggestions for us."

* * *

 _About three weeks later, in a country house not far from Plymouth, Wales_

Ms. Roberts was sitting with her afternoon tea, reading the paper, while her husband worked on balancing the books on the campsite. When her eye glanced over a small notice in one corner of page three, she very nearly choked on her tea. "David! David! Get in here! Right now!"

There was a clatter as Mr. Roberts bolted out of his chair, nearly crashing over it, to see what was so urgent. "The paper, dear? What's so urgent about..." he looked over the notice. "Missing. Thirteen year old girl, goes by the given name Frisk. Brown straight hair, probably cut short. Slightly tanned skin, slightly on the short side, quiet. Last known to be at..." Mr. Roberts stopped reading, and together, they turned to stare at the picture that Anne had drawn multiple times. One of them was hanging on the refrigerator.

The female humanoid goat they had no answer for. Anne had always called her an angel. But there were two humans in that picture too. And one of them was a dead ringer for this missing Frisk. How had their daughter drawn such an exact picture?

Mr. Roberts picked up a cordless house phone and handed it to his wife. "Call them."

His wife silently took the phone and dialed. "Yes. Hello. My name is Penelope Roberts. Is this Mr. Macintosh? I've got something I think you should see."

* * *

In Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore read the same missing person's report. He took a deep breath, moved to his desk, and began to compose a letter that would have to go out on an owl that morning. This was a complication he hadn't been expecting, and he wondered if the ministry was prepared to handle it.


	7. Ignoring the Dark Arts

It was Monday morning, and light was shining into Gryffindor tower. Frisk awoke to the sounds of people moving around her. After debating on the virtues of 'just a few more minutes', she forced herself up, put her class robes on, took her wand from her bedside table, and made her way first down to the common room.

She arrived to find Asriel standing in front of the notice board, where he was reading an elaborate, maybe even gaudy, new sign, advertising " **Gallons of Galleons!** " Frisk came up beside him, so did a number of others, as others finished and began talking to each other as they filed out of the common room.

"Huh. What do you think they're up to?" Frisk asked Asriel, as they both turned away, only stopping when they heard Chara calling from behind them.

"I don't know," Asriel said, shrugging. "Fred & George are advertising work," he said to Chara's questioning look. He pointed behind them at the sign. "But it's at the 'applicant's own risk'," he finished. "I don't think that's the way to start a healthy school year."

Frisk and Chara giggled. "Probably not," Frisk said, as Chara led the way down the Great Staircase, and down towards the main hall for breakfast. They were one of the first ones down there, and managed to get all of their first selections of food.

After they concluded with firsts (and in Chara's case, moved on to seconds), the mail arrived. Frisk was greeted by a rather larger owl than normal, carrying a cloth bag between both its talons. It landed slowly, allowing the bag to settle on the table, then perched next to it. Frisk held up a goblet of pumpkin juice, allowing the owl to drink deeply, before flapping away again.

"What's in the bag, Frisk?" Ginny asked, as McGonagall began to come down the row, handing out the class schedules for the term.

Frisk opened up the bag revealing a textbook sized tome: "Power of the Soul: The Limits and Endless Possibilities," she read aloud. "By Animus."

"That didn't take long, did it?" Asriel said, peering over at the cover. "I wonder if that was one of the ones they used at the monster school. I didn't actually study it, I was a little too young before..." he stopped, with his face telling Frisk it was because Chara had most likely elbowed him under the table. "Well, you know."

"Oh, neat!" Ginny said, sitting down across from Frisk. "Are you going to study that in your free time? If you do, don't tell Hermione, she'll ask you to tutor her." She grinned, looking at the prefect sitting a good deal up the table, though the fifth year was currently buried in a newspaper. "I don't want to think what that would be like."

Frisk had the sudden vision of Hermione hanging on her every word, asking increasingly complex questions that she could barely hope to answer – until Hermione was tutoring her because she'd finished the book in one day. "I'd rather learn at my own pace, I think," Frisk said, pushing that thought aside.

McGonagall had reached them, she handed Asriel and Chara their schedules first, then Frisk's, then reached across the table to give Ginny hers, greeting all with a crisp, "Welcome back, Dreemurs, Ms. Weasley," before continuing on down the table.

"Double potions this morning, as always, with the Slytherins," Frisk read. "Defense against the Dark Arts with the new professor this afternoon."

"We've had a werewolf and Moody in the last two years," observed Ginny. "Think she's going to be a reanimated mummy? A vampire? Something made up from spare parts in search of a soul of its own?"

Frisk stifled a giggle, glancing up to the staff table, seeing the new Professor Umbridge sitting there. She could hear the 'hem'ming from here. Or maybe that was in her mind from last night. Frisk tried to push that thought away too, it wouldn't be fair to the new professor to judge her on one speech would it? "What do you all have?" Frisk asked.

"I've got Defense this morning. Second period." Opal said, from the table behind Frisk. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Transfiguration this morning," Asriel reported, consulting his own schedule. "Then History of Magic. I suppose it's better than the other way around. What would starting a Monday with History be like?"

"Like you had a desperate need to sleep in," Ginny told him. "That's not a combination I would wish on anyone. Sleep is guaranteed in fifteen minutes. Ten when the weather's warm. At least Professor Binns doesn't notice, usually."

The bell for the end of breakfast rang, marking five minutes before their first class of the term. "Okay, have a good day everyone!" Frisk said, hefting her bag and heading toward the stairway down towards Professor Snape's dungeon classroom.

"Hey Frisk," called a voice approaching from the other side of the great hall. "You alright?"

"Good morning Steven," Frisk said, turning to acknowledge her Slytherin potions partner. "I'm doing okay this morning. How about yourself?"

"Doing alright myself," Steven said, as they started down the stone steps into the gloomy basement. "Not sure about this new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I really didn't like how she tried to take over the welcome speech from Dumbledore. She hasn't earned that respect yet."

They were one of the first people down into dungeon proper, and talked to others in their year as they came down. While the group wasn't nearly as integrated as Steven and Frisk had gotten them that one day last term (one of Dumbledore's "Challenges"), the other students were still more social then the complete stand offs they'd been before, so that was something, at least.

Exactly as the bell rang, the dungeon door opened with a bang. Professor Snape watched from the desk as the students filed into the classroom. While most of her Gryffindor classmates sat to her left, and most of the Slytherins were set up to her right, there was one other pairing that crossed houses, Walter Wilcox and Athena Pakenson set up on the table behind them.

"If I were to recall last term's exams," the professor drawled, "There was a universal lack of knowledge on the subject of the Girding potion. So this term, we shall begin there. First, you shall start by brewing up a sample. Directions are on the blackboard. Begin."

Frisk and Steven set to work, first confirming they'd copied down the directions correctly, then on chopping the luminescent mushrooms called for in the first step.

As they worked, Snape prowled the class. His sardonic, almost caustic tone, echoed through the Gryffindor side of the class. It was more prevalent then it had been, even if it still wasn't back to the levels of virulence she'd experienced directly her first year.

It was weird, he'd warned her about this at the end of last term. But she could only guess at the 'why'. It almost certainly had something to do with the impending return of the Dark Lord. Headmaster Dumbledore had put into motion several plans when he and Minister Fudge had their falling out, but hadn't given them any details of what actually was happening.

But through all of it, he still didn't go after Frisk or her partner. Which was both good and bad in mostly the same way – by not being singled out, she felt singled out.

"Frisk, you're about to stir it the wrong direction, aren't you?" Steven said.

Frisk had quick glimpse of when she'd done something similar in her first year, and she went back to working on her potion. She eventually bottled it and took it up to the Professor's desk. It was a yellow mustard colored liquid, with the bottle feeling like it was charged with static electricity. She'd made this potion before, and it felt similar to the last time she'd made it. So, she was reasonably confident she hadn't made the exact same mistake twice.

"Looks pretty good Frisk, we should get full marks," Steven said, as they wrote down their essay assignment (a full roll on the uses and hazards of using the Girding potion), and packed up their potion making kits, and headed back out of the dungeon.

"If your dad is in the Wizengamot," Frisk said, "Do you know anything about Professor Umbridge?"

"Sorry, I don't," Steven said as they went up they climbed back towards the Great Hall for lunch. "All he knew is that she was the senior undersecretary to the minister. If Minister Fudge took ill, for example, she'd fill in for him until he returned."

"That's too bad," Frisk said. "Time for Charms. See you in Creatures!" Frisk called, as her friend turned to go out towards his first Herbology class of the term.

Frisk was looking forward, as she returned to the great hall for lunch, to talking to Opal about the new teacher. She would have liked to know something about her going in – but there was no sign of her. She frowned and double checked. No, there was no sign of her anywhere. Why would that be? She finally gave up and sat down next Chara.

"How did classes go, Frisk?" Chara asked her as Frisk reached for a cup of pumpkin juice.

"About as expected, Chara," Frisk told her. "Professor Snape is cranky about something, though. Might need to be careful. Do you have potions this afternoon?"

"No. Charms," Chara said. "Potions is Wednesday."

Just before the end of lunch period, Opal ran in. Her eyes were bloodshot, making Frisk think she'd been crying, but the expression on her face was one of anger. She ran to an open spot at the Hufflepuff table and grabbed a sandwich for herself.

"Opal?" Frisk asked, staring at the Hufflepuff. Opal whirled about at her name just as the five minute warning bell rang. "What happened?"

"She's horrible, Frisk," Opal said, and her voice dripped with venom. "She... she..." Opal took a deep breath. "I'll tell you at dinner. Don't be late to her class. You do not want to be late."

Frisk had half expected for Opal to be called out by at least one of her classmates, but while a good number of them were looking on with interest, the ones in their year were pointedly avoiding looking at her friend. Opal didn't seem to be in the mood to care, either. "Are you sure, Opal?" Frisk asked, but Opal was already heading, sandwich still in hand, toward the main door.

Frisk was sorely tempted to chase after her – but decided eventually against it. She was warned not to be late to Prof. Umbridge's class. So, with the other Gryffindors of her year, she headed up the grand staircase to the new Defense against the Dark Arts class.

Upon arrival, she was struck with the difference of tone between this classroom and her previous two. Professor Lupin's was full of illustrations of magical creatures. Professor Moody, albeit a faker, still has a room that was full of the things you would expect to find with a former auror. Posters about what to do if a Dark Wizard attacked, notices reminding one about common defensive charms, that kind of thing.

In contrast, this classroom was spartan. There was a blackboard, there were desks, and that was it. It was impossible to look at Prof. Umbridge without Frisk flashing back to Asriel's observation that she resembled a Froggit, no matter how hard Frisk tried. The almost stereotypical bow on her head made her look like something out of a poorly written children's cartoon where they needed something to prove to the viewer that a character was feminine.

After they'd taken their seats, they were forced to chorus a 'Good Afternoon, Professor Umbridge' and told to put away their wands and pull out their quills (Frisk's pen got a real hard look). Neither instruction was inherently the kiss of death for a class... but neither had great history behind it, either. Frisk's heart sank further as Umbridge had indirectly slapped down both their former teachers, she introduced the course outline, consisting of three things: _1\. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic. 2. Learning to recognize in which defensive magic can legally be used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

There was mutterings around the class.

"Now, you will pull out your books, turn to page five, and read chapter one. There will be no need for talking, or for questions." And that was it.

Frisk tried to read the instructed material, but it was dry and flavorless. Frisk found herself comparing it to one of Professor Binz's History of Magic lectures – which couldn't end well for anyone. It wasn't that the the ideas presented in the basics were bad – the chapter was based on the idea that one would not commonly need to actually use defensive magic, and how to defuse such situations. But the presentation was terrible.

Frisk was nothing if not determined though, and she made it through about halfway the chapter before she looked up and realized how many other people were struggling, and it seemed like that they very much had questions, but no one was brave enough to challenge that 'No need for questions' qualifier.

When the bell rang, the Professor smiled at them all. "That was very good class. I look forward to seeing you again later this week."

"Professor," Frisk said, taking advantage of her speaking. "When are we going to practice any of these things?"

Professor Umbridge's bow tilted dangerously on her head as she shifted her gaze to Frisk. "What things did you expect to be able to practice?" she asked in a syrupy sweet voice.

"De-escalation," Frisk said, looking up at Professor Umbridge with half-lidded eyes. "I mean, if we're going to study it, we should be able to use it." She saw the Professor's skeptical face, and hurried. "I mean, it's something that would be useful here at school, I'm not the only one that's been bullied."

"Bullies," the professor told her primly, "are a reason to call a teacher or a prefect. You certainly shouldn't expect yourself to stand up to them. That is why there are prefects and teachers."

Frisk stared at her, open mouthed, unable to articulate her shock. Had she just been told to leave conflict to her betters – in not so many words? Why were they bothering with this book if she didn't intend to make use of it somehow?

"Professor," Walter chimed in, while Frisk was reeling, "When are we going to learn actual defensive charms?"

Professor Umbridge studied Walter's robe for a moment. "Mr. Wilcox, do you expect to be attacked in class?"

There were nervous giggles through the classroom. "Actually, Professor. Professor Moody did attack us at random points during last year's exam..."

"Which is why," Professor Umbridge said, with a carefully controlled voice, "the Ministry has elected to take direct control of this particular class. Werewolves and criminals, we do not know what Dumbledore was thinking. But I am here, and I will make sure every student gets a proper education."

"Did you just," Keith Duncan began, but he was elbowed quickly by Kevin, and fell silent. Once they were clear of the classroom and the professor's immediate presence, he exploded. "Did she just compare Professor Lupin with the person who helped kill Cedric?" Frisk didn't want to think about it, she really didn't want to think about it.

Other people were, though. She could hear Kevin Masterson muttering angrily that they learned far more in the first lesson with Professor Lupin then they had in this new professor's first try at the job. Romilda Vane remarked that he hadn't seen the need to talk down to them even after an entire year, even where they were first years.

The muttering continued all the way to Transfiguration. But none of them were going to complain to Professor McGonagall, not yet, at least.

* * *

"And was there any hint that we might learn any of those charms?" Opal shouted. They were outside the castle, and only a few students were around to stare at her. Frisk had convinced Opal to go for a run, on the theory that it might calm her down. They had stopped, Frisk panting, Opal still looking fresh, near one corner of the castle.

"No," whispered Frisk. Partially because she found that whispering caused other people to lower their own voice, but mostly because she was out of breath.

"No," agreed Opal, at a more conversational volume, though no less vehement. "When she asked if we were expecting to be attacked, I reminded her that not only were students attacked on campus each of the last two years, two years ago by dementors that the ministry themselves brought on campus, but a student had died last year."

"She didn't take it well, did she?" Frisk asked. "You didn't attack her, did you?" Frisk had a mental image of Opal flipping Umbridge onto her back, and then Opal getting cursed.

"No, I didn't attack her. But I got a detention anyway," Opal said. "I'm supposed to take it next Friday – after dinner," Opal said. "I do not care. I will do it again next week, if I have to. I am not going to let her or the ministry forget what happened to Cedric!"

"I understand that, Opal," Frisk said. "But it's not going to do you any good if you get kicked out. Don't let one teacher consume you like this!"

"It's not going to be just me," Opal predicted. "I wasn't the only Hufflepuff who admired Cedric. Or thinks that this Umbridge woman stinks at Defense Against the Dark Arts. Problems don't get solved because you ignore them, Frisk."

"No, you're right, Opal. That is a terrible way to solve a problem. I think she has a point though, there hasn't been any attempt at combat resolution. It wouldn't be a bad thing to teach."

"You would think that, Frisk," Opal said. "You know who is back, and I don't think you're going to be able to talk him out of attacking people."

"Well, Professor Umbridge does have one other thing thing going for her," Frisk told her friend.

"What could that possibly be?" Opal asked.

"She didn't assign us any homework," Frisk said brightly.

Opal stopped, thought for a second, and laughed.

On the other hand, Opal's prophecy did come true pretty quickly. By dinner, word had spread among the student body that both Opal Oxtoby and Harry Potter had gotten detentions on their first day of school.


	8. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Frisk awoke early the next morning, rolling out of bed. She still felt uncomfortable about what happened to Opal yesterday. But she had both of her new classes, so at least there was that to look forward to. Frisk pulled on her robes, and took up her school bag, and headed down to the common room with a loud and long yawn.

There were only a few people still in the common room, clustered around the notice board. Frisk slipped behind them, looking for any new notices, and spotted one.

There was to be open tryouts for the Gryffindor quidditch team. She had a funny feeling Dumbledore had said something about that at the opening feast, and her mind had glossed over it in the wake of Prof. Umbridge's 'speech'.

"Are you going to try out?" asked Ginny from behind her, the sudden noise causing Frisk to jump.

"No," Frisk said, turning around, and smiling slightly at the grinning older student. "Not a chance, I don't even like quidditch that much, you know that. Chara and Asriel might, though. Why is there an open position, anyway?" she asked, as they both turned toward the portrait hole.

"Oliver Wood graduated two years ago. We won the cup that year, remember?"

Oh, right. Frisk remembered the celebration afterward, when Hermione had the row with the others. Though it did feel kind of strange to hear Ginny say 'we', like she was on the team herself. "Because the quidditch cup was canceled last year, they only now have to fill his position," her friend explained.

"Ah," Frisk said. She tried to remember which position that was, Ginny's brothers were the beaters, and Harry Potter was the seeker, so that left... "One of the three that toss the quaffle," Her mind raced, trying to remember the name. "Uhm, Chaser?" she guessed.

"Keeper," Ginny corrected. "Goal-Keeper."

"Oh," Frisk said, "Right. What about you, are you going to try?"

"I'd like to, but I'm not good at playing keeper. I'd much rather play chaser, or even seeker, though I don't think Harry would give up his spot on the team for me."

"Not after what if he went through yesterday, especially," Frisk said. The rumor that he'd 'Gone mental' on Professor Umbridge had come from enough different sources that she'd accepted it as pretty much a fact.

They climbed down the Grand Stairwell to breakfast, where Frisk found her siblings discussing the notice, each trying to psych the other up to try out. "I think you should both do it," she told them, sitting down to a small plate of eggs and toast. "Asriel? Didn't you help Ron with goalkeeping during Dumbledore's challenge last year?"

"I did, against self propelled quaffles. That was something. I wonder if defending against players would be easier or harder." Asriel said. "But I'm only in my second year," Asriel said. "I've barely had the chance to get up on my own broom."

"You don't have that much to lose. If you're beaten out by someone older, you'll still have a chance to prove yourself and they'll know you're interested for the next time."

"A monster on the Gryffindor quidditch team, that would be something. We should go out and practice tonight, then. Frisk?" She looked around, and spotted Ginny sitting a few seats up the table. "Would you be willing to come help Asriel practice at quidditch this afternoon?"

Ginny looked at them, then up the table at her brother Ron. She then looked back at them and flashed them a quick thumbs up. "Well, there you go," Chara said. Asriel's eyes were wide, not looking comfortable with the situation. The bell rang, alerting that they had five minutes before class. "See you at lunch," Chara said. "Come on Azzy. It'll be okay."

Frisk had Charms that morning, so she climbed the grand stairwell up two flights. She turned to her right down a corridor, and into the classroom. She picked a seat, nodded to Laura as the taller girl sat down next to her, and waited for the professor to begin his class.

While Frisk liked most of her teachers (the living ones, anyway), Prof. Flitwick was one of her favorites, she'd always found his cheerful attitude to be infectious. "For our first class this term," he began, standing behind his desk (though this made him only eye level with his students), we will cover Finite, the dispelling charm. While nearly every spell has a specific counterspell, there are times you might know what that is, because you don't know the spell that was used. Or maybe you need to cover a wider area, because your muggle neighbors are coming over, and you need to make your home presentable. That is where finite comes in very useful."  
The professor took a breath, and looked the class over. "It's a simple incantation, but it can vary in power depending on how deliberately or forcefully you do it." He demonstrated the motion; the pattern of the wand resembled an 'x' with a second downward stroke connecting the two diagonals. The professor moved the wand with such speed that Frisk could feel the small wave of power come from it even three rows back.

He had them repeat the spell a few times as a group, judging their tone and their wand movements, before taking a box from his desk. He walked out among the students, and at each desk, he dropped a couple of mundane objects, from apples to small plastic toys. "Now, pair up, and I would like you to take turns putting minor enchantments - Tarantallegra is a personal favorite of mine, as you know – and dispelling it."

Frisk let Laura try the spell first. She put the dancing feet charm on a small doll's chair, sending it tapping towards her classmate. It took Laura three tries to get the charm right, by which time it was precariously close to dancing over the edge.

"That was harder than I thought," Laura told her. A crash from the other side of the room suggested she wasn't the only one who thought that way. She took a deep breath, and sent the toy back toward Frisk.

Frisk gave the dancing toy a hard look. She made the three strokes, trying hard to keep that center one straight. "Finite!"

Nothing happened.

Laura raised one single eyebrow. "See?"

Undaunted, Frisk stood, to give herself more room, and gave it another cast. On the third cast, she got enough energy through her wand to stop the chair in its tracks. She sat back in the chair and wiped her brow. "He made it look so easy," Frisk told her classmate.

"I've had many years of practice," Professor Flitwick told her, causing both girls to turn in surprise. He was smiling. "But that is an excellent first series of attempts. Do keep it up."

* * *

"So how was Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy?" Asriel asked as his siblings, as well as Ginny and Luna, headed down the path to the Quidditch pitch. It was an attempt at distraction. The early September afternoon was warm, thought a light breeze kept it from being hot.

"They were okay," Frisk reported. "I was hoping Arithmancy was going to be something about creating magical items. I really want to find something to help monsters blend into Muggle society. But it seems more related to numbers. At least there was math, which would make Mom happy."

They walked to the broom closet, retrieving their brooms. "Nimbus two thousand and ones?" Ginny said, sounding a touch envious. "I'd love to get a new broom. I know Harry Potter really liked his Nimbus 2000."

"But I remember when he came in with his new Firebolt at the end," Frisk said, one eyebrow raised. "He treated it as if it was made of gold."

"Well, sure!" Ginny said. "Have you seen what that can do? I mean, it can accelerate so fast..."

"It doesn't matter," Frisk said hurriedly, cutting her off from her gushing. "Are you ready, Asriel?"

No, he wasn't. He didn't really want to be out here. He felt the butterflies in his stomach, and they were helping him think of a thousand reasons why he shouldn't be practicing for this. He was too young. He was about to be a monster playing a wizard sport. He wasn't going to be good at this.

But what actually came out his mouth was, "Yes, I am." They took to their brooms, with the team of Frisk, Chara, and Ginny tossing around a quaffle while Asriel took his position, guarding the three goals at the end of the pitch.

The girls started with direct tosses at a short distance. Frisk and Chara were easy to defend against, Chara being about as inexperienced as Asriel on the broom, and Frisk just wasn't an expert flier. Ginny, on the other hand, had done this before, and she was quite good at it, keeping Asriel guessing which of the three scoring posts she was actually aiming for. In fact, Asriel was pretty sure she scored more than he saved.

"I think Asriel's getting the hang of this," Ginny said. "We should try this in an attack formation." Asriel just gave her a hard look back. He didn't feel like he was getting the hang of it at all.

"What do you mean?" Frisk asked.

"Up until now, we've just been sitting in place throwing the quaffle. But in a real game situation, we'd be trying to avoid bludgers and the opposing chasers, throwing the ball back and forth while charging toward the opposing goal."

"Oh, sure," Chara said, nodding. "I get it. A game situation. Let's try it."

They flew away from him, a bit more than halfway into the other side of the pitch. Asriel watched them, gripping his broom, positioning himself in front of the center goal. Chara passed the quaffle to Ginny, who slung the ball towards Asriel's left.

Asriel was slightly out of position, but his reactions were on the money, he managed to scrape his fingers along the edge of the leather quaffle, but he didn't force it far enough to the side to prevent it from tickling the edge of the goal hoop and just bouncing through.

"That's okay," Frisk told him. "You can't be perfect on the first go. Would you get the ball and we'll give it another swing?"

Asriel swooped down, picking up the quaffle in passing, and threw it back up to his sister. They repeated the exercise about thirty or forty more times before the dinner bell rang. Asriel still thought he'd let through more than he'd blocked, but he was getting better, blocking three of the last four, even one that Ginny had outright fired.

"That last one was pretty good!" Ginny told him as they walked into the great hall. "I'm not sure you're team material yet, though. Look, don't worry. Even professional keepers can't save every goal. There are occasions where the snitch is caught just to keep the score from getting worse. Like at the World Cup last year."

"Thanks," Asriel said. He meant it, feeling satisfied, if exhausted. His fur was damp and beginning to mat from the exertion, and he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one feeling winded. He wiped the sweat from his nose. "That does make me feel a bit better. Can we do this again tomorrow?"

"Sure," Ginny said. "As long as I don't let homework pile up tonight," she amended.

They sat down together at the Gryffindor table, but hadn't had the chance to set into dinner at all when Frisk's friend Opal had collapsed into the seat behind them with a loud frustrated noise. "Are you okay, Opal?" Asriel asked.

"No," was her straightforward reply, "I'm not."

There was something in that tone that really got Asriel's attention. He looked over his shoulder to look at Opal directly, but she'd already turned back to her own table. "Opal," said Frisk, "What did you have to do for your detention?"

"Lines."

"That can't be all of it," Frisk said. "Opal..."

Opal ignored her, and not just her, but several people at her own table were also trying to get Opal's attention, and Opal was having none of it. Just as he was about to turn back to his own food, Asriel noticed something odd. "Frisk?" he said quietly, nudging his sister.

Frisk looked up at him, a hurt expression on her face. "Is Opal left handed?" he asked softly, so Opal couldn't hear.

The question took Frisk by surprise, and she had to think about it for a second before shaking her head. "No, she isn't," she finally said.

"What's up?" asked Chara. "Why is that..."

"Because she's eating with her left. She's got her right hand curled up."

Frisk looked at Asriel, then at Ginny. "Let's catch her after dinner. I don't want her to hide whatever's going on."

Ginny nodded, and Frisk and her siblings began to eat. They ate quickly and without conversation, as they didn't want to miss the opportunity to get to the bottom of Opal's behavior. When Opal had finished eating, she took off, almost immediately. Ginny and Chara were up right after her, and Asriel and Frisk not far behind them.

To Asriel's surprise, Opal didn't make for the stairwell, however, but headed out the main door. "Oh, please don't say she's going for a run," he whispered.

She was.

Usually, on those weekend days last year before flying practice, Opal would jog. Which meant everyone else would be lightly running. Tonight, though, she was going full out, that probably meant that people wouldn't be able to keep up with her if they were fresh. And they they'd just spent an hour or so on the quidditch pitch, not exactly well rested. Asriel was forced to give up, panting heavily, about a fourth of the way around the castle. After a minute or two catching his breath, Asriel decided to go back to the door, just in case.

Opal came back around, her fists clenched. She looked at Asriel, and Asriel gave her a nervous smile back. "Frisk wants to be there for you," Asriel said. "Please let her?"

Opal closed her eyes and took a deep breath, looking a little deflated. "Alright."

It took several minutes for Frisk and Ginny to stumble into view, both of them gasping for breath. Neither of them actually collapsed from exhaustion, but they both doubled over, causing Opal to blush pretty heavily herself.

"Can," Frisk managed to eek out. "Can we go back to the Great Hall now?"

The great hall was beginning to empty out, but there were still plenty of people looking quizzically as they sat back down at the Gryffindor table, even Opal. "So," Frisk said as everyone else caught their breath. "What made you so angry."

Opal looked at them for a moment, then she opened her hand, and held her right palm out for them to see. Asriel felt his eyes going wide. There were words etched into the palm of her hand, "I must not backtalk to my professor." The lines were cut deep into the skin, and Asriel could see small trickles of blood dripping from them.

"You said she had you write lines..." Chara said, with anger overtaking her horror. "Did you write them...?"

"In my own blood," Opal confirmed.

Frisk stood wordlessly, pulling at Opal, motioning her from the great hall.

Opal resisted. "I'm not going to let this woman thinks she's getting the better of me!"

"How many other people are going to say that?" Frisk asked, peering at Opal through half-lidded eyes. "How many people are going to suffer in silence before someone stands up to her? But... that's not where we're going. That's an open wound, and it could get infected. We're going to the hospital wing." Frisk's tone was reminiscent of Madam Pomfrey, quiet but determined.

"Oh," Opal said, now sounding alarmed. "I'm sorry," and she let herself be led out of the Great Hall.

Asriel didn't need to guess what Madam Pomfrey's reaction was going to be. When the group – all six of them – poured into the hospital wing. she was confused. When she saw the words cut into Opal's hand, she was horrified. Asriel was temporarily deafened by the shout of rage, which he suspected could have been heard up in the Gryffindor common room.

"This... this is her idea of detention?" Madam Pomfrey asked. Asriel and now her voice was shaking in rage. He'd never heard her like this, and from the way Frisk was stepping back, he guessed she hadn't either. "Injuring the students? I thought what happened to Mr. Malfoy last year... and she doesn't have the excuse of." She shook her head. She clapped her hands twice, and with a _crack_ a house-elf materialized in front of them. Madam Pomfrey wasted no time on pleasantries, asking the Elf to go find the headmaster and bring him to the hospital wing.

The elf nodded once, and disappeared with another _crack_.

"Now, while we wait for Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey said, "Frisk, can you find some Murtlap essence in the supply cabinet, please?"

Frisk nodded, and disappeared into the small closet. She emerged with a large glass jar containing a yellowish-brine, with large dark tentacles floating inside. "I have it."

"Excellent. Bring it over here. It needs to be diluted before we can use it." From a separate cupboard, Madam Pomfrey retrieved a large wooden bowl and a measuring cup. She filled the cup with water three times, pouring it into the bowl. Then, opening the jar Frisk held up to her, she filled the cup one more time, making sure to get a few tentacles, and poured it in with the water. She stirred it aggressively, and when it was done, set it on a small table. "Come here, Ms. Oxtoby, and put your hand in this."

Opal looked at the mixture apprehensively, but didn't actually need to be told twice. The look of relief as she fully submerged her hand told everyone how effective it was. "This will sanitize the wound," Madam Pomfrey explained, "and..." she was interrupted by a polite knocking at the door.

A moment later, the headmaster walked into the room, making eye contact and nodding to each of them. "Good evening, Madam Pomfrey," he said. "How can I help you?"

Madam Pomfrey, in turn, gestured to Opal. Opal, with some embarrassment, told the full story of how she stood up to Ms. Umbridge in her first Defense class, was sentenced to detention, and her use of the horrible blood using quill. The headmaster took it all in, his eyes flashing dangerously at the end.

"I know, technically, the use of corporal punishment is still legal," Madam Pomfrey said, "But there has to be something you can do about this!"

"Still legal?" Asriel asked. That was something of a shock.

"It is why Mr. Filch is allowed to still maintain the old 'chains'," the headmaster explained. "I have tried, for years, to convince both the Wizengamot and the Board of Governors into finally outlawing the practice, but enough of them pine for 'The Good Old Days' that I have never actually managed it. With that said, I have banned the practice while I am headmaster." He stopped, considering something for a second. "I shall confiscate that quill of hers first thing in the morning," he promised. "However, it is very possible that as soon as the Minister hears what I have done, he will order me to return it. But I will do what I can." He turned his piercing gaze to Opal. "And I shall make it clear that if she takes it out on you, Opal, for reporting her, she will have a serious problem on her hands. Can I trust you will be honest about that to me?"

Opal looked shocked, but nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good! Now, I believe the rest of you belong in your common room, it is just about curfew. Though I understand if you would like to teach Ms. Frisk more about Murtlap essence," he said, winking. "Have a more pleasant evening."

The instruction had been polite, but it still was a reminder of the rules. "Good night Opal. See you in the common room, Frisk." And Asriel, with Chara and Ginny alongside him, headed back upstairs.


	9. Soul Discourse

Frisk awoke, staring up at the canopy of the bed, not quite managing to believe what had happened the previous evening. Normally, she didn't get teachers in trouble like that until the end of term. Frisk rolled out of bed, changed from her pajamas to her robes, and headed down the many steps between her bed and food in the great hall.

Not for the first time in her Hogwarts career, she envied both the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. Both of whom had their dormitories on the lower level, and had a much shorter walk to breakfast... probably, anyway. She wasn't actually sure where their common rooms were, but Steve and Opal always went down the grand staircase in the evenings.

Frisk had barely made it down the seven flights of stairs, and taken a seat in the great hall, when Chara tapped her on the shoulder, nodding toward the staff table. It appeared that the fallout of the Headmaster's confiscation of Ms. Umbridge's pen was going to be immediate.

Frisk turned her head, and saw Ms. Umbridge staring down at her, a positively venomous expression on her face. Frisk, not feeling particularly intimidated, looked back up at the staff table with her most determined gaze. When Ms. Umbridge realized that Frisk was looking back at her, she adopted a rather vapid looking smile, though the rest of her face appeared no more pleasant. After a moment, the instructor turned her attention elsewhere.

"Good Morning Fr..." Ginny began, sitting down near her. "Uhm, wait. Why was Umbridge looking at you like that? Frisk, does she know you encouraged Opal to go to the hospital wing? How would she even know that? I can't think Dumbledore would have told her."

"That is a very good question," Frisk admitted. "But I'm not sure I care. She was hurting Opal as a form of punishment. So she can think what she'd like about me. I'm not going to let her stare me down."

"Cheers, Frisk," Ginny said, though Frisk could detect a note of worry in her friend's voice. They ate quietly for a minute or two, as the mail owls covered the room with deliveries of letters, packages, and the occasional newspaper. Each of the Dreemurr children got a letter from home, saying how much they were being missed already.

Frisk swallowed a bit of orange juice, and glanced back at Ms. Umbridge. An idle thought crossed her mind, one that she found she couldn't keep to herself. "You know, though, I can't help but be curious," Frisk said, she kept her voice low, "What would her soul look like?"

As Ginny's eyebrows raised thoughtfully, Asriel choked on his oatmeal. "I do not know, and I do not want to know." He shuddered. "She's hurt people, and that's not good for your soul. It can't be..." Frisk could see Chara's eyes going wide, and nudged her brother under the table, "...not if you keep doing it, anyway," he finished quickly.

"Have you had a chance to look over that book Mom sent you?" Chara asked, eager to change the subject. "The one on soul magic?" she clarified.

"Only a little bit," Frisk admitted. "There's some theory, but mostly it's practical stuff, at least in the first few chapters. It starts with focusing your soul, which I picked up in the underground, and the reading of other people's souls. Then it goes on to cover magical attacks, and shielding from magical attacks, I mean, other people's soul attacks. So... there's not really a lot to read."

"Well, does that mean you would want some partners to study with?" Ginny asked. "I mean, not that I really want an extra subject to study, but this sounds different and fun."

Asriel and Chara both looked enthusiastic about the idea. "Well, okay," Frisk said, nodding. "I'd bet Luna would like to join us as well," Frisk predicted. "She was very good at it the first time she tried it. I can ask Professor McGonagall if we can use the Transfiguration classroom."

"You should ask Steven, as well. And maybe Hermione, Ron, and Harry?" Chara suggested.

"Uhm," Frisk said. "Maybe not them. I think that's just too many. Steven, yes. But, well, if you're willing, I'll see if we can get somewhere to try it."

"Neville, at least," Ginny suggested. "If he's up to it. Though he might not want to take on any more work in his OWL year. It's only been a few days, and they're already looking frazzled."

"That's fine," Frisk said, though that was starting to sound like a lot of people. "Can you ask him, please? I can find Steven and Opal."

Ginny nodded as the bell rang, indicating they had five minutes to get to class. "See you at lunch, Frisk," Chara told her, as their friends departed for their separate classes. "We have our first class with Umbridge this afternoon," Asriel said. "Wish us luck."

* * *

The subject on Transfiguration that morning was on Animagism – the specific talent of a wizard to transform themselves into a particular animal, which Professor McGonagall promptly demonstrated by transforming herself into a cat and back.

"The only witches I know that have managed it," she explained, "Are those have a specific affinity for a type of animal." A titter of amusement rippled through the class. "Yes, I have a certain fondness for felines," she said, arching a single eyebrow. "Do you think this says something about me?" she asked.

The giggles promptly stopped.

The rest of the lecture was devoted to the other ways one could transfigure humans, and the associated dangers of all of them. There was a brief aside into metamorph magic, those rare magi who could change their appearance at will. "I've only known two of those, and they've had the ability since birth. Let us just say it is a skill the Aurors prize highly."

After their homework was assigned and the bell rang, Frisk stayed at her desk. "Pardon me, Professor?"

"Ah, what is it, Ms. Dreemurr?" the professor asked.

Frisk detailed the idea of having a small group to study soul magic together, after regular classes were over. "I guess it would be a soul magic club," she concluded. "Can we use the Transfiguration classroom for it? Maybe even this afternoon?"

Professor McGonagall studied Frisk for a moment, then came to a decision. "I shall have to ask the headmaster," the professor decided. "I suspect he will say yes, especially after the success of soul magic in your first year, but he will need to give his permission. I shall have an answer for you at lunch time. If he gives his ascent, then you certainly use the Transfiguration classroom."

Frisk smiled, "Thank you, professor."

Then it was outdoors to her first Care of Magical Creatures class. It was pretty well known, by that point, that Professor Hagrid had taken some sort of leave of absence. The substitute, Professor Grubbly-Plank, was reportedly less exciting than Professor Hagrid, but also held a calmer class. Whether or not that made her better was up to the opinion of any given student.

On this particular Wednesday, Frisk arrived in the field near Hagrid's unoccupied hut to see what appeared to be a small army of small animals in a gated pen. "Gather round, gather round," the professor called the approaching students.

Joining the Gryffindors on that Autumn afternoon was, not the Slytherins, as she expected, but rather the Ravenclaws. Just not her friend Luna Lovegood, who was a fourth year. "Now," the professor said, getting the attention as the students before they could crowd around the pen. "Does anyone know what these are?" she asked.

Frisk, and the rest of her classmates, turned towards the creatures. They were small, furry, with pointy quills on the back. She'd seen them before, in gardens and such, so, along with a few others, she put her hand up.

"Yes, Ms. Dreemurr?" Professor Grubbly-Plank, after a moment of reading the name stitched into her robe. "What do you believe we are looking at?"

"Hedgehogs, aren't they?"

"They do look like hedgehogs, don't they?" the professor noted, turning to look at them herself, as the Ravenclaws began to snicker slightly. "But I do not believe hedgehogs would make an appropriate first lesson in your Care of Magical Creatures class. Now, does anyone else have a guess?"

"She got klaxoned," whispered one smirking Ravenclaw to another.

Frisk had no idea what 'Getting Klaxoned' meant, (and there were a few other students around giving them quizzical looks) but it didn't make her feel any less like an idiot. Of course they wouldn't have actually been hedgehogs.

Another Ravenclaw put up his hand, "Are these knarls?"

"That's correct! Take five points for your house. Now, as Ms. Dreemurr noted, they look nearly identical to hedgehogs, and are similar in other ways as well. While both are omnivorous, meaning they eat plants and other animals, hedgehogs tend towards meat, such as small insects. A knarl, on the other hand, prefers to eat plants, and will consume insects and such to supplement its diet."

Prof. Grubbly-Plank might have been a straightforward teacher, but she was more enthusiastic about her subject than Professor Binns was. So despite the initial embarrassment, Frisk enjoyed her class. She would enjoy the half roll of parchment she was to deliver by next class less, but that was to be expected.

Then it was back to the great hall for lunch, but before she could sit down, she was intercepted by Professor McGonagall. "I am pleased to tell you, Ms. Dreemurr, that the headmaster has approved your request for a 'Soul Magic' club, on a trial basis. He would like me to act as the club's adviser, so I will be present for your meetings. I assume that will be alright with you."

"Yes, professor, and thank you."

"Very well. I will see you after last bell this afternoon," the professor said with a nod, and headed up to the staff table for her own lunch.

Now it was just a matter of getting the word out to the others. Frisk did note, out of the corner of her eye, that Ms. Umbridge was once more taking careful stock of her.

* * *

When Frisk arrived in the Transfiguration classroom, she found Professor McGonagall already there, sitting at her desk, reading through some essays. Opal and Steven arrived first, and they made small talk as Ginny, Luna, Asriel and Chara filtered in. While the group was mostly in good spirits, Chara was sporting a grumpy, almost angry look, and Asriel was looking haunted.

"Hey, uhm, you two okay?" Steven asked.

"We're fine," Chara said shortly, her eyes resting on the professor a moment before turning back to Frisk, and giving the second most fake smile Frisk had seen that day.

"Are you sure? Asriel, you really don't look..." Frisk began.

"We're fine now," Asriel insisted. "We can talk about that later. I'd rather we talked about soul magic, it's why we're here." This thought was punctuated with Neville arriving, red faced and out of breath.

It was why they were all there, so Frisk, despite her misgivings, relented. "Well, okay. I thought we should start with what we did a few years ago. The book calls it 'The Soul Call'," Frisk pulled the book out of her bag, putting it on the desk. She opened it, flipped a few pages, and began to read: "The soul call is the most simple of all soul magic of monsterkind. Yet the call is the building block of all other magic, be they soul blessings, other readings, or (though hopefully you never need it), magical combat. The key to the soul call is opening yourself to the souls of others. This encourages them to open themselves up to you."

"There's more to it then that," Asriel said frowning. "It's like..." he frowned, "I'm not even sure how to put it so humans would understand it, it's like..." He fumbled at the words. "It's like tensing your soul, which I'm sure sounds strange to you. But it's how I think of it!"

"Well, I understand," Frisk said. "But that's because I've felt it so often."  
"I understand too," Steven agreed. "I remember when you had us practice before going on," his voice stumbled slightly. "The rescue mission," he finished, somewhat embarrassed.

It was hard to tell with the fur, but Frisk thought Asriel flushed slightly at that.

"Then let's make that the goal of our first meeting," Frisk said, smiling. "We can practice the soul call. Would you like to demonstrate it for us, Asriel?"

"What? Oh, sure. I can do that," Asriel said. There was no outward sign when his soul call began, but his call was stronger than her own. On par with the calls Frisk had faced in the underground, and it didn't feel like he was putting effort into it. She could remember Flowey's soul call, and this didn't have that strength, or feel to it. It was certainly stronger than Frisk's own soul call. All around the room, the souls blossomed into view, mostly ones Frisk had seen before, Opal's light blue soul, Neville's yellow soul, Steven's purple soul, and Ginny's green one.

There were a couple that Frisk hadn't seen before, though. That Chara's soul was as red as Frisk's own didn't surprise her. Asriel's, on the other hand, while it was still predominantly silver, also had... 'patches', for lack of a better word, of just about every color that Frisk had seen in a soul, except black and pink.

The surprise was, almost, enough to keep Frisk from realizing there was one soul she hadn't seen – the professor's. But maybe Prof. Lupin had told the Headmaster what they'd learned the first time they had done this, and he had made sure Prof. McGonagall knew.

"What is that?" Ginny asked, looking at Asriel's, startled.

"He's got part of us with him," Luna deduced, before Frisk could speak. "When we offered our soul to help him not be a flower any more, he had to keep a small part of them."

The professor looked up from the Essay she was grading, looking toward Frisk with a single raised eyebrow, presumably for some sort of explanation.

"I think Luna's right," Frisk told them. "But I've seen damaged souls. Well, one anyway, Chara's, in the past. I was carrying the other part of it with me at the time. But look around us now, nobody has any damage to our souls."

"So," Steven asked, "What actually does cause damage to someone's soul, causing it to break like that?"

"I know soul magic attacks can do it," Frisk said, though this was leading her down a subject she'd prefer not to think about. She'd been subjected to enough of those in the underground, but that wasn't what had...

"Does that mean Chara was attacked by monsters?" Opal asked.

"No. No monsters ever attacked me," Chara said quickly. "Please, I would rather not talk about what I," she broke off. "What happened to me."

Frisk actually had a theory about what had shattered Chara's soul. She may have not had proof, but she was really confident in it. And she didn't want to talk about it either. "That's not what why are here," Frisk said firmly. "We are here to learn soul magic."

During the conversation, Asriel had let his concentration lapse, and the souls had winked out from view. So they went around the room, each showing their own ability at the soul call. Frisk, naturally, had the easiest time of it after Asriel. Of the actual beginners, Luna had the easiest time managing the soul call, which matched with their previous experience, and Steven had the hardest.

The other person that had a hard time other person who had a hard time with the soul call was Chara. This shouldn't have surprised Frisk as much as it did. Her sister wasn't practiced with soul magic, and her previous unfortunate choices had made her resistant about sharing her life with others. This made it hard for her to share her own soul. In the end, she managed it, but it was one of the weakest soul calls Frisk had felt.

"So where do we go from here?" Ginny asked as they finished. "What else do we do with soul magic?"

"I'm actually not sure," admitted Frisk. "I hadn't gotten that far in the book. The introduction said something about soul blessings and other readings, so maybe we something about that?"

"What about changing your form, like what Asriel did?" Steven asked.

One of the first things Frisk had looked up when she'd received the text book. "It's one of the theoretical things that it talks about if one is possession of multiple human souls, since monster souls don't persist after death," Frisk replied. "But the book was written before the barrier came down, so it comes to the conclusion that it really doesn't matter," she finished. The other thing she'd looked up was any theoretical time traveling, but that had come up empty.

It had been about an hour since she arrived, so Frisk decided to call it there. "I think that will have to do it for today. Dinner will be soon, after all." There were some nods over this, and people began to stand. "If it's okay with everyone, we can just do it again at this same time next week. What I'd like is for someone to share something about themselves, which might encourage all of us to be more open. But I've told just about all of my good stories already, so is there a volunteer who might go first?" Frisk asked.

Ginny raised her hand. "I will, I can think of something to share."

Frisk beamed at her. "Thanks, Ginny! Okay, I'll see you all at dinner, classes, wherever, and we'll meet here next week, if our adviser is willing to share her room again?"

From the desk, the professor nodded to them. "That will be fine." With that, most of them headed out of the classroom.

Frisk waited for her siblings before walking out of the room with them. Once she's was sure that there was no one else in earshot, she asked in a low voice, "Now, what was the matter when you walked in?"

Asriel looked away, but Chara's face darkened. "Umbridge does not think monsters should be at Hogwarts. Maybe even on the surface."

(I'm back, again. I swear. Part of my problem is figuring out exactly what 'Soul Magic' could be. I'd appreciate your input... send any ideas in a PM, please! See you soon.)


	10. Sporting Goals

"What do you mean?" Frisk demanded. "Did she actually say that?"

Asriel let out a long drawn out sigh. "No, she didn't. Not directly." he admitted. "It was in her eyes. I mean... you should have seen her face when I walked into the room. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pursed, and she just stared. She stared right at me. I... I could feel her anger wash over me. Frisk, I'm not joking. I felt so uncomfortable."

Frisk closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This couldn't be right, could it? How could anyone hate someone for just being... here? "Do you want to ask someone about this? I mean, I think you should. Either the headmaster or Professor McGonagall."

"I don't know," Asriel said, as they rounded a corner towards the grand stairwell.

"Asriel," Chara said, and there was an edge to her voice.

"I mean it, Chara, I don't want to cause trouble. I mean, they still think of me as an... what's the term? An examination?"

"An experiment," Frisk said quietly.

"Right, that they want to be sure that monsters manage well at Hogwarts. If I do something to get kicked out..."

"Asriel?" Chara said crossly, "Do you think there's something wrong with acting to be treated fairly?"

"No," Asriel replied, looking down at the floor for a moment. "But, Chara, the professor hasn't actually done anything yet. I mean, I know how she looked at me, and I know how I feel about it. But I don't want to complain that her stare made me uncomfortable. It was just a look. I don't want to be known as a monster who... uhm..." he floundered, looking for the phrase.

"Cried wolf," Frisk supplied quietly. She wasn't sure who she agreed with. Chara had a point, that it was not for the professor to treat anyone with the suspicion it sounded like Asriel had received. But... what if the two of them didn't know something? What if it hadn't meant for him, but she had... well, Frisk wasn't sure what might have happened. And Frisk understood where Asriel was coming from too. He wasn't just trying to protect himself, he was thinking of all the future monsters that might not be able to come to Hogwarts if he complained too much.

"Asriel," she said as they were about to reach the ground floor and the great hall. "I would tell Professor McGonagall at least. If you ask her to keep it quiet, I'm sure she'll keep it confidential, and only act if she thinks if she has to."

"Frisk, I'm the only monster in the school," Asriel said, wrinkling his nose. "Exactly how would she keep it confidential?"

"I mean," Frisk explained, "That she won't tell anyone else, least of all Ms. Umbridge,"

"Fine. I'll think about it," Asriel said. His tone, and the fact they were starting to move into a crowd, suggested that should be the end of that conversation.

They entered the great hall, and took seats at their table among the other students of their house. The conversation around them had settled into some of Gryffindor's new favorite topics, that they weren't learning anything from their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and the speculation on who might just be the new Gryffindor keeper.

On that latter subject, there were a number of upperclassmen bandied about. Frisk only recognized one of them, Cormac McLaggen. "I won't be able to cheer for Gryffindor if he makes the team," Chara told her brother. "You'll have to make sure you do better than he does."

"Ah," Asriel said, shrinking back slightly from the interested looks of his classmates. "No pressure then."

* * *

Asriel exited the castle on Friday, to find a pleasant early September afternoon The sky was just overcast enough to keep the sun from beating down too heavily, and a light breeze complimented everything, keeping the temperature merely warm, instead of insanely hot.

They stopped by the broom closet, each of them collecting their personal Nimbus 2001. Only Asriel had planned to make use of his, but you never knew. When they reached the pitch, they found a sizable portion of Gryffindor had turned out to watch the tryouts, including most of the current Gryffindor team. There was only one notable missing person. "Where's Harry?" Asriel whispered. The butterflies had begun to flutter in his stomach. It had taken both Frisk and Chara working together to convince Asriel that he would regret it if he didn't at least try.

"He's still working off detention with Ms. Umbridge, I think," Frisk said, looking over her shoulder, back up at the castle, where presumably Harry was being forced to do... something unpleasant. At least Frisk had gotten the blood-quill taken away.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, causing the conversations to stop and everyone to pay attention. The whistler was a tall, dark skinned female upperclassmen. Her long black hair had been done up in no nonsense braids. "That's the captain," whispered Asriel, to no one in particular, "Angelina Johnson."

"Alright everyone!" Angelina called. "Everyone who's trying out for keeper this afternoon, gather over by Fred and George, please." The word 'please' belied the crisp nature of Angelina's commanding tone. "Everyone else can head to the stands."

"Okay," Asriel said, taking a deep breath. "Wish me luck?"

Chara and Frisk both reached out a hand to clasp their brother's arm, and Asriel went out to meet the twins.

"Hey there, Asriel. Going to try out?" One twin asked.

"Would be something," the other noted, "having the first monster in Hogwarts on..." his voice petered out. "Ron?" he said in surprise.

Asriel turned, standing next to him was one of the people who had been kind – and brave – enough to gamble his soul on bringing Asriel back from the darkness. He also happened to be the twins' younger brother. "Oh. Howdy, Ron. You going to try out as well?"

Ron had a not quite stable look that made Asriel think he was feeling slightly sick. It was a feeling Asriel felt all too much kinship with at the moment. "Yes," was the only word he managed to get out.

"Alright, this should be interesting," grinned his old brother, nodding to both of them, and going to address some of the other people who had come down to the pitch.

"Hey, Ron? It'll be okay," Asriel said. "You'll do fine. You took the lead in that Quidditch event last year."

Ron turned him, startled. "Oh. Thanks Asriel, yeah. That's what inspired me to try out." He gave the monster a weak grin. "You did a good job yourself. So, uh, good luck."

Asriel nodded. "Good luck to you too, Ron."

A few other people had gathered around, but Asriel was glad to see that, as far as he could tell, Cormac was not among them. This was one of those small favors. That's when he saw the other two chasers of Gryffindor's quidditch team, and realized they were in full red quidditch robes. "Who should go first?" came Angelina's call.

The twins looked at each other, then at the five gathered students. "How about... you, Iain?" said one of the twins, picking at what appeared to be at random. "You can go first."

The older human nodded, swallowed heavily, and took to the sky. The rest of them sat back and watched as the three chasers of Gryffindor: Angelina, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet followed him up.

The other prospective keepers headed to the stands as the girls took positions in the middle of the pitch. Asriel had never seen them in action before, his one real experience with competitive quidditch was at the World Cup last year, and that had been at a far enough distance that it didn't seem real.

Iain tried, valiantly, to block the first shot that came towards the goals. He missed, barely, the quaffle bouncing through the rightmost hoop. The shot wasn't nearly as fast as the national teams had been, but it was still much faster than Asriel had been seeing with his friends and siblings. But he blocked the next two.

As Asriel watched the tryout continue, he felt his stomach continue to do flips. What had he been thinking? This was going to be beyond him! He was lost in this thought, absently staring up at the action, when Ron nudged him. "You're up, mate."

Asriel's eyes went wide, shocked back to the present. "Oh, right, thanks." He stood up from the stands, holding his Nimbus in a deathgrip. He stepped on to the pitch, mounted his broom. He had to tell his broom 'Up' twice before he was lifted into the sky. He guided himself to the goalpost. He closed his eyes, and took a single deep breath. He remained gripping the broom with his left paw, opened his eyes, and waved his right paw in a symbol of readiness.

He really wasn't. There wasn't any deception to this first shot on his goals, they just started at about midfield, heading straight for him, and the ball came at him from the cannon that was Angelina's arm. He reacted in time, just barely getting the pads of his right paw on the edge of the ball. It wasn't that he really got enough force to block the ball, so much that it was just enough off target that he managed to force it to bounce harmlessly off the edge of the hoop.

As much jubilation as he felt that he actually blocked the first shot was tempered by the fact he couldn't continue as he started. The next two shots – though he managed to touch one of them, were perfectly placed so that it didn't matter as the gently bounced through the goals.

He gritted his teeth. As much as he expected to get shown up, that doesn't mean he had to like it. Angelina passed the quaffle forward to Katie, she threw the ball straight up, where Alicia caught and threw it at the center upper hoop in one smooth motion. This time, Asriel was up to the task, pulling his broom up and managing to catch this one, cradling the quaffle against his body.

He could hear cheering coming from below, but he forced himself to only give a quick wave to his sisters down below, tossed the ball back to the chasers, and got back into his position for the next assault.

However, having proven their prospective keeper could defend the center ring, the attacking Gryffindor team focused on the other two. This tested Asriel and he ran just slightly better than one for every three shots. After about twenty overall, Angelina tossed the ball to Katie and flew up to Asriel. "That wasn't bad, Asriel, but it's time to give the others a go."

"It wasn't bad," Asriel mumbled to himself, as he brought his Nimbus 2001 to a landing, "It was terrible.

"I think you did alright," Chara said, as they jogged up to him and the third applicant took to face the trial by Quaffle fire.

"Did I?" mumbled Asriel.

"I think you did okay too," Frisk told him. "I mean, you blocked more than the first person did."

"Really? How many more?" Asriel asked, rising slightly out of his funk.

"One," Chara admitted. "Look, we're second years. You're the youngest person trying out. You knew that Asriel. It's okay. You did your best."

They took seats in the stands and watched the remaining tryouts. It became clear that it wasn't that the keepers were bad... it was that the Chasers were that good. "You know, it's actually easier for them like this," Chara remarked as the fourth person went up for her go. "There's no other chasers trying to knock the ball loose and above all, no bludgers. They can focus on the shots."

Ron was the player to take to the sky, and it was clear that from the get go that he was the most experienced player of all of the people trying for the positions. He didn't center himself between the goals, like Asriel and the others had, but patrolled between the three hoops, continually changing direction. He also mostly didn't keep a hand on his broom, directing it only with his knees. While this reduced his stability, it gave him far more ability to defend his goals.

"I wish I had that confidence," Asriel said in wonder, not able to keep a touch of envy from seeping into his voice. "How is he managing to stay upright?"

"I don't know," Chara admitted, admiration in her words. "I know I couldn't do that."

Which wasn't to say Ron was infallible, all though he blocked the first three on the spin, he then missed the next two consecutive ones, both of which fell through the scoring hoops. He regained his form after that and went on another tear of blocking a number of shots in a row before the Gryffindor chasers really started ramping up their shots. Asriel could absolutely see the difference. Now that they were going full tilt, Ron was having problems keeping up, though he was still saving more than he was letting score.

Despite Ron's audition going on longer than anyone else's, and the outcome not really being in any doubt, the siblings didn't leave. They waited for the players to land their brooms. There was a perfunctory huddle between the girls and the twins, ostensibly to decide who was getting the position. But Asriel was pretty sure there was only one possible answer.

"After careful consideration," Angelina announced, "We have selected Ron Weasley as our new keeper. Congratulations, Ron, and thanks everyone for coming out!"

Ron stood on the pitch, looking somewhat glassy eyed. Asriel and his sisters went over to congratulate him. "Great job, Ron," Asriel said, holding out a paw to shake.

Ron took it, still looking shell shocked. "Thanks... I'm having trouble believing it."

"Believe it, little brother," said one of his twin brothers, coming over and punching his shoulder in congratulations.

"This makes up for your prefect badge!" remarked the other twin, punching Ron's other shoulder. "Come on, let's go up to the common room and celebrate. We'll get you a butterbeer to celebrate! After we clean up, anyway."

As the crowd began to disperse, Asriel was struck by a thought, he jogged to catch up with Angelina before she could vanish into the showers. "Excuse me, Angelina?" Asriel asked.

Angelina stopped, looking around at the monster. "Yes?"

"Uhm, I'm sorry. I just wanted to ask if there was any way I might practice with you. I still want to be a keeper, maybe in a few years. Do you think that could be a possibility?"

Angelina cocked her head, looking around at her teammates. "We are allowed a reserve in each position. We don't normally but there's really no reason not to. Would anyone object if we put him on the roster as a reserve?"

"Oh!" Chara said excitedly. "Do you have a reserve beater?"

Angelina laughed. "Sure. Why not? But I need to make this clear, if there is an opening on the team, I'm going to hold open tryouts. I mean, there were better players than you, not just Ron. But they're gone, and you stuck it out to ask. I think it feels right to reward that. Besides, it'll give Fred and George someone to work against in practice." She looked over at Frisk. "Do you want to join us too?"

Frisk backed up, shaking her head negatively. "No! I mean, no thank you, Angelina. I... don't really like flying."

Angelina laughed again. "With your size... I'd think you might make a good seeker. Harry needs someone to practice against too. But okay. I'll be in contact with you two then with the practice schedule, though the first one will be tomorrow. But for now, I really do need to get cleaned up. Excuse me, please."

"Thank you again!" Chara said, nodding her head. Asriel echoed her, and they headed back up to Gryffindor tower.

* * *

Frisk's second week of classes were a lot quieter than her first week. Her homework increased, but she was able to pretty well clear the majority of her list each night. Asriel and Chara, on the other hand, were being slightly overwhelmed with their new practice schedule as reserves on the Gryffindor quidditch team. The complaints about Ms. Umbridge's "teaching", or more honestly, the lack of it, had increased in volume and tone, but Frisk didn't add to it. She thought it was important to keep her head down.

Thus, it was to Frisk's surprise, that after her Friday afternoon transfiguration class, involving the starting steps of transfigurating a tortoise into a teapot that Professor McGonagall had tapped her on the shoulder. "I need to speak to you after the bell, Ms. Dreemurr."

With this being the fourth time in three years, being pulled aside was becoming a little tradition of Frisk's. As her best guess as to why she was being pulled aside had to do with telling the headmaster about the blood quill, Frisk was not feeling especially comfortable. Frisk had frantically searched her thoughts, but as she hadn't had another altercation with Draco or Cormac, and she didn't even need an excuse to go to Hogsmeade this time around, she came up empty. When the professor charmed the door to close with a thud, Frisk looked up at her apprehensively.

"Ms. Dreemurr, I have a question for you." The professor took a second to focus on her, adjusting her spectacles. "Do you recognize the name 'Macintosh'?"

Frisk felt her mouth drop open in shock. "How..." she sputtered. "How do you know that name? My family doesn't know... that was from before I fell into the Underground." She took a deep breath to regain her composure. "I do... they were one of the foster families I had. They were American... and they had to give me up when they went back to the States. Why... why are you asking about them?"

"Because they've come looking for you." Prof. McGonagall replied tersely. Frisk could feel her heart skip a beat. There was something in Prof. McGonagall's voice that… well, Frisk wasn't sure what it meant. It seemed extra 'crisp'. "You will be meeting with the minister himself on Saturday."


End file.
